Lockdown
by Kay the Cricketed
Summary: When Leonardo fails to tell his brothers about a mishap in their latest mission, the mistake could cost him something important... like his life. Don's answers. Raph's anger. Mikey's hope. What can combat something that attacks from the inside?
1. The Plans of Turtle and Men

_Lockdown_

By Kay

Disclaimer: Don't own TMNT. My attempts to buy it with pennies, dryer lint, and an empty cocoa bottle were thwarted by the greediness of Peter Laird and company. Insert melodramatic sigh here.

Author's Notes: Chapter one of what will probably be around five or six chapters. :) It's a bit rushed and has way too much exposition, but I hope it's okay and you all enjoy! The "powder" mentioned is something I've researched quite a bit so I'm hoping the portrayal is accurate enough. If you think otherwise (er, if you've figured out what it is with the clues I've given you), please let me know. In this chapter, it should be noted that Don's a genius but he only knows the basics about this, so some of his ideas on it are sketchy at best. That will be rectified shortly, believe me. No one keeps Donnie in the dark for long, man.

Thanks for reading and reviewing if you do so!

* * *

'_We move in, we get out,' _Leonardo had said. _'What happens in between that is the easy part.'_

Now Raphael curses under his breath and dodges another rapid stream of gunfire. The bullets hit the wall and splinter the wood, bits of plaster raining down on him from above where he crouches behind the sofa. He hates it when Leo's wrong. Next time he sees their fearless leader, he's going to shove each one of those words right back down his throat, with interest.

Of course, _none_ of them had thought there would be this many guards. Or this many guns. Just goes to show they're all a little behind on the times, maybe.

Next to him, Donatello is tense_—_he can feel the nervous energy vibrating throughout his brother's body, even with the foot of air between them. "Mikey and Leo made it to the upper rooms," he says, low, and tucks the Shell Cell back into his belt. Raphael has to strain to hear him. "They should be taking care of the labs now."

Raph grimaces at the idea of Mikey in one of them. "Like turnin' a bull loose in a china store," he growls, clutching his sais tighter. They have to run out of bullets some time. More plaster gets into his airways; he coughs, then sputters, "What _is_ it with damn _nutjobs_ and abandoned apartment buildings?!"

Don makes a face, apparently agreeing with him. "I have to say," he says, "this is the worst kind of place for chemical testing. Doesn't Keslemen have any idea of the potential risks involved in experimenting with dangerous toxins without any environmental precautions to_—_"

"Not big on geek speak, Donny," Raphael says, grimacing. "'Sides, Keslemen ain't much of a scientist. More like a drug runner with aspirations."

Don nods grimly. They exchange glances. Raph looks away first, remembering the unfamiliar anger in Don's face when he'd first heard about Keslemen's experiments. There are certain lines in the progression of science Don thinks should never be crossed_—_kidnapping homeless friends of theirs and using amateur chemical mixes on them, as a means of finding new ways to get a better high, is one of them.

Raph doesn't want to think about some of what they've heard, what they've _found_. There are some things that aren't forgivable. So much that even Leo, usually the most reluctant to get involved in street matters, had been the first to step up to the plate.

Don's fingers clench so tightly around his bo that the wood protests. Raph nods in approval, then fingers his own sais.

"I say we get rid of these bozos and make our way to the mad scientist. Can't let Leo and Mikey have all the fun," he drawls, muscles preparing themselves. The bullets are blowing pieces of the upper cushions of the sofa to mere fluff. He blows it off his wrist.

Don shoots him a look. "That man is no _scientist_."

"Not arguing with ya there, Donny."

The gunfire halts abruptly, men cursing just beyond them at the doors. Empty clicking sounds are replaced by frantic scurrying for another magazine clip, instantly recognizable.

Raph grins fiercely and _leaps_.

* * *

'_What is it with nutjobs and abandoned apartment buildings?' _Leo wonders, ducking into another room. Below him, from the downstairs living room he sent Raph and Don to enter into on the other side of the building, he can hear gunfire, very faint. That's a bad sign. If it hasn't stopped by now, this could be uglier than he'd thought. Apparently the drug trade buys more guns and thugs than they'd anticipated.

Story of their lives. Leonardo sighs and takes out the two men sitting in chairs inside the rundown room, watching a television. Easy pickings. Their eyes are glassy from something that Leonardo doesn't really want to name. All it takes is a tap, really. When they slump unconscious to the floor, he makes his way back to the door.

No sign of Keslemen, the ring leader of this disturbing little circus. He wonders if Mikey's having better luck.

Raph and Don can take care of themselves. He trusts them to handle the rough part, even if it hadn't been entirely planned. Drug money buys goons, but not skill_—_something his brothers are in ample supply of, as it happens. It says enough that they guard the main entrances but almost completely ignore the windows in the complex. Mikey and Leo had both slipped in without a problem, no one guarding the upper floors. Bad strategy. Sloppy.

Of course, Leo muses, it's not often anyone had mutant turtles dropping in on them for social calls. Of course.

Another lab across the hall. This is the third one. He ignores it, finding it empty and disturbing, the dirty tubes littering the floor and broken needles scattered on the counter telling tales of frequent use. It's nothing like Donny's lab. Leo feels safe in Donny's lab, having come into it numerous times late at night to find the light still blazing and his brother sleeping peacefully, head pillowed on his arms over the desk. He's stumbled over the mess on the floor to get to Don, trying to quietly put a blanket over his shoulders, but never felt in _danger_. To him, it is another piece of home, as familiar as his brother himself.

This place, _this_ isn't remotely safe.

Sometimes Leo wonders what the human world is coming to, seeing these things. The hollow eyes of the kids_—kids_, younger than him, too young to be _here—_he'd already knocked out. They look like they can't even see him anymore, like they can't even move. They remind him of some of their homeless friends they found, after Keslemen was through with them and had thrown them away like broken toys. And they had been broken, of that there was no doubt.

If they were even alive.

Unforgivable, using anyone like that. Leo moves across the hallway and finds another lab, occupied by rickety tables and shelves of packed powders, chemicals labeled with chicken scratch writing. In the corner, there's a young woman sleeping. He doesn't bother waking her just to knock her out again; from the pale, gaunt stretch of her skin, she won't be waking for a long time, anyway. Some of these people, he thinks, are beyond help. For the ones that aren't… at least maybe the city can help, if they're forced to.

The gunfire from the bottom floor has stopped. Good. He'll have company soon, then. Best to wrap this up before Raph or Mikey get a little shuriken-happy.

Even Leo's having a hard time keeping his composure in this place. It reeks of death, of a sick crawling despair in his belly, of dark times. He itches to take the payment for his discomfort out of Keslemen's skin. Make the man pay for what's happened to their friends. But it's not that kind of mission, and Leo's not that kind of ninja. Not for this.

'_Once we get inside, it's just a matter of immobilizing the guy in control of this operation. Without Keslemen, it all dries up,' _Leo recites, calling up his words from earlier while they were in the lair. _'Just enough to make sure no one can cover things up again and make a run for it before the police arrive. The authorities can take care of the lab. Nothing fancy.'_

'_Define fancy, O Fearless Leader,' Raph had said._

'_Fancy means loud, frivolous, or _stupid_.'_

'_Might hafta define it a little better.'_

'_It means we take out the building quietly, Raph. No funny business, no serious injuries. Just keep them down long enough for us to wrap things up in a pretty little package. We're not here for revenge, we're just making sure he doesn't have any more chances. That clear enough for you?'_

Of course it wouldn't have been. Leonardo has the feeling by the time they leave, there will be more than a few drug peddlers barely crawling. He doesn't plan to say anything. In this, at least, he can give Raph some ground. For now. As long as it isn't too much.

He shifts, the metal gleaming across his swords even in a damp, dank room such as this. April will be calling the police in less than fifteen minutes.

It's time to end this.

* * *

Michelangelo is having a great time.

It's been a long time since they've had a bust like this. Quick, harmless, personal vendettas fierce enough to warrant a drop in Leo's sensibility. It's always about justice. Sometimes Mikey daydreams about a world where his big brothers share his dreams of following in the footsteps of the Turtle Titan or something like-minded, but mostly he's just happy to be making a difference even from the shadows. They all stand for the same causes, after all_—_it's just the costumes that are any different.

He has some fun taking out the few guards posted in the hallways, then tying them up and shoving them in linen closets. The police should be able to follow the muffled yelps later. The kids, Mikey doesn't feel nearly so good about knocking out, but it's that or give away his location. He makes sure they're nice an' comfy before hightailing it outta there.

The labs are _gross_. Mikey wonders when they're actually going to see a real lab, like on television_—_the kinds that are shiny and white and glow really funny. At least Donny's doesn't smell so acidic and rotten.

He gets through the third floor and works his way up to the fourth. It's not much better. Leo's probably on the fifth by now; they should be meeting soon.

The next room has purple curtains. Mikey is tempted to make fun of them, but the only two people in the room are a sweating woman and her silent baby. He hesitates. She stares, wide-eyed, whites around small pinpointed pupils.

Mikey raises a finger to his mouth. "Shh," he warns her.

She closes her eyes and makes a vague cross over her chest.

"Cute kid," Mikey tells her, then closes the door softly behind him. He figures, what Leo doesn't know won't hurt Mikey.

Besides. He's got the feeling his big brother might've done the same.

* * *

"That," Raph says, "was disappointing."

Don makes an absentminded sound of agreement, studying the folded blueprint plans he'd tucked inside his belt earlier.

"Not much of a fair fight," Raph continues, muttering. He kicks one of the henchmen petulantly, scowling further when the man only groans and spits out a trace of blood. Raph's knuckles still hurt from this one, but sometimes strength works better over sai, and Leo _had_ given strict orders not to leave their signature.

Not that Raph gives a damn what Leo said, but he hasn't had a good brawl in a long time, anyway.

"We're on the bottom floor," Don says. "Leo and Mikey should've covered the top four floors by now, if they didn't run into any… ah, setbacks like we did. That leaves us one more."

"Let's hope Keslemen doesn't like heights," Raph growls, punching his open hand. The smack is satisfying, as is Don's exasperated glance.

"Leo said not to do anything to him. It's not about revenge, remember?"

"Yeah, well, what Leo doesn't know won't hurt 'im. I bet Keslemen needs a _shell_ of a lot of immobilizin' before we can be sure he won't be going anywhere," Raphael snarls, opening the door to the stairwell.

"We don't know anything about him," Don warns.

"How hard could it be? He's a scrimpy little freak with a chem set. What's he gonna do, blow pixie dust in my face?"

"You know, it's lines like that," Don sighs, "that always give me a really bad feeling."

The stairwells leads up into darkness. For a while, there's nothing but their footsteps pounding and echoing against the narrow passage, and Raph thinks that without the gunfire, this building is entirely too silent.

* * *

Leonardo knows he's on the right floor when an arch of bullets decorates the space just above his head after entering.

He rolls towards them instead of away, opting for the quick track. A quick jab upwards with the hilts of his swords, the snap of chins meeting momentum, and then the bodies crumple to the ground. He immediately glances around for others, but there doesn't seem to be anything. Keslemen doesn't know what he's doing, then. By sending his main force downstairs, he's left himself wide open for Leo's advance from above.

Pathetic, almost. It's nothing like the Foot. Which Leo is very grateful for, he reminds himself, everyday.

He hopes the others have gotten through alright.

The floor is deserted. He doesn't have to look into any of the other rooms to know this; a deafening silence seeps into every corner of the hallway and beyond it. Leo closes his eyes for a moment. Listens.

Breathing, heavy, from behind the third door down. The clink of glass tubes together. A low mumbling.

He lets himself not-quite-smile before gliding forward.

Leo rests himself against the wall to the right of the door, then reaches out and wrenches it open. Flattens himself again to the side, and just in time. The gunfire is deafening_—_the wall across from him is littered with holes, plaster and shredded wallpaper drifting down to the bare floorboards. He waits patiently until the panicked shots have finished and a frantic clicking pervades the air.

"Your sick games are over, Keslemen," Leonardo says, stepping into the room. It's very dark; his eyes struggle to adjust. "Surrender peacefully or I _make_ you."

Keslemen is short. Young, Leo discovers with irritation, and filled with nervous energy that speaks of the man trying too many of his own concoctions. He crouches against the far wall, gun unsteadily swaying in his hand, eyes unfocused in the darkness and sweat beading his neck. He's wearing the sort of lab coat that would be comical if it weren't covered with smears of mucus and dappled blood. Leo can smell the acrid stench of the man from across the room.

"W-what are you?" he gasps.

Leo tilts his head. "It doesn't matter," he answers coldly. "You've crossed a line when you started picking innocent people off the street to have them tested in your twisted desire for power. I'm here to make sure the police get their hands on you this time and put you away, for good."

A hesitation, then Keslemen licks his lips. "Another hallucination," he whispers.

Leo steps forward again, unafraid now that the gun is useless. "No."

The gun is fumbled with, then falls heavily to the floor. Keslemen gets on his knees, searching almost blindly. "Y-you can't be real," he hisses, shaking violently. "You can't be real. You're another of _those_ ones. The amphitheatre. The caravan. You're_—_"

Leo extends his arm to knock him out. Whatever need for revenge he'd had, it's dulled. This man is a shell. A shell that needs to be taken care of, but this will be enough for today, for him.

Keslemen jerks back, reflexes disturbingly quick. "You won't take me!" he shrieks, his hands bunching into his pockets and turning them out. Tubes clatter over the floor. He grabs one, uncorking it_—_

"Put that down," Leo growls.

Later, he'll curse to himself for being stupid. For underestimating. For not obeying the small, welling pit of dread in his stomach, steadily growing outward and coming to a screeching high at the emptiness in Keslemen's eyes. There is no sense of humanity there, no sense of self.

Keslemen dumps a handful of white powder, crystal-fine, into his hand.

Leonardo steps forward and reaches for him again.

The flat side of his sword glistening, even without light, some remnant from the hallway catching on the blade_—_

It hits Keslemen hard, smacking into his hand and head at the same time with a sickening crack. More than enough to knock him over and out. Keslemen jerks and drops like a sack of stones. His hand opens. The powder flies up like a miniature, silver snowstorm. Leo steps back hurriedly, but it's too late_—_it spreads out quickly, a small cloud, and he inhales something so bitter that his tongue curls in on it in protest.

He coughs. Shakes his head. Swallows. Bitter, strongly so, strange_—_

He sneezes, backpedaling further. Rubs his face. Coughs again.

_Stupid_. Stupid, stupid, stupid_—_

Keslemen is down. He barely notices, gagging on the taste, the texture of it. Stumbles back out of the room. Closes the door. Keslemen isn't going anywhere, not when the police should be here any minute.

Leo wheezes, rubbing his nose. Takes a deep breath. Then another. Clears his throat experimentally. Nothing. Just the lingering strength of its bitterness, a heavy irritation in his throat. He goes to the lab across and finds a dirty sink with bottles littering its bottom, turns on the water, and drinks from it. Rubs it into his face. Better. Already, it's better.

He really, really hopes that hadn't been cocaine. He'd never hear the end of it from his brothers.

He looks in the fragmented mirror above the sink. He looks fine, if a bit wet now. Leo breathes deeply, easily. The taste lingers only slightly. He can see straight. There's nothing wrong with him. Maybe in some last, half-cooked desperation, unable to think straight because of his own drugs, Keslemen had botched his own last attempt at defense. It seems likely.

Well, then. What his brothers don't know won't hurt them. Leonardo smiles swiftly at himself in the mirror and exits the room, slipping downstairs just as the police sirens begin to wail in the distance.

* * *

It takes fifteen minutes until they're back in the lair. An overall mission of little over two hours, Don notes when he comes back into the living room. They're either getting better or the villainous clientele of the city are getting worse. He hopes it's a mix of the two.

"I've just taken on a third-grade class of losers," Raph complains aloud as they enter, obviously likeminded. "What ever happened to all the ninja clans and cyborg scientists and alien weapons? It's like pickin' off girl scouts, these freaks."

"Except they're seriously lacking in the thin mints, dude."

"He was dangerous enough, guys. He should never have been able to get a hold of half the stuff I found in those laboratories," Don argues. "Most of it wasn't even usable in drugs. I don't know what he was thinking. It was more like a toddler mixing paints than the work of any rational mind."

"Next time, can I get the head honcho?" Mikey groans. He drops onto the sofa and clicks on the television. "I always feel like a miss the party, bros."

"You're missin' _something_," Raph grumbles. He heads to the punching bag. Of course. Don watches him go disappointedly, expecting no different but hoping nevertheless. The goons weren't much for Raphael. He hadn't had to do anything, honestly, except stand there and wait for his brother to wrap up shop. Don has no problem doing that; it's when the fix isn't met that he begins to worry.

One of these days, it's going to be an even bigger problem. Keeping Raph satisfied, keeping his thirst for vengeance in check. Glancing over at Leo, Don expects their leader will be watching their hotheaded brother with the same degree of grim exhaustion.

But Leonardo is leaning against the door, fidgeting. He stares at their home like he's never seen it before. Cautious, apprehensive.

"Leo?"

Leo jumps, visibly startled.

"You okay?" Don frowns, stepping forward. It's not like his brother to be so… high strung.

"… fine."

"Lay off the caffeine, bro," Mikey calls, watching them curiously. Apparently _The Wild Kingdom _can't hold his attention nearly as well as his own family.

Leo moves quickly forward, displacing any of Don's initial concerns about hidden injuries (he's gotten on Leo's case about that before, had hoped it wouldn't be an issue again). When he makes his way towards Raphael and the practicing area, the concern dissipates completely. Restlessness_—_so that's it. Sometimes it happens even to the best of them. A fight felt unfinished, the one who escaped justice. Even Donatello feels a twinge of bleak anger. He remembers the frozen faces of their homeless friends, the gruff but kind features, the ginger-pepper beards and skin long cold and white from strain and suffering.

Prison's too good for Keslemen.

'_We've put him away, though,' _Don quietly thinks to himself. _'No one else has to get hurt anymore. It's over.'_

He joins Mikey on the sofa and steals the bag of chips. Sometimes Don thinks about a life where he doesn't have to fight, but most of the time, he figures he's got a pretty good one already.

* * *

His fist hits the bag with a loud thump. His knuckles are protesting already_—_too many of the gunmen had sharp chins. Raph snickers to himself and hopes they at least have to see the reminder of their stupidity in the mirror for a few weeks longer.

It takes him a second to realize Leo's on the edge of his vision, but one glance tells him enough. Leo looks pained, impatient, agitated. He only gets like this when he needs a good tussle as much as Raph does, and in this instance, for once, their ultimate goals coincide. He pushes the punching bag away and grins fiercely.

"Up for sparring?" Raph speaks short, wastes no time. Leo watches him with wary eyes, then nods.

"I ain't gonna go easy on you," Raphael warns, but he puts away his sais. Hand to hand is more satisfying in this case, and Leo has already set aside his swords, dropping them to the mat and then wincing as if the resulting clang is too loud. _'Wuss,' _Raph sneers inwardly. He's going to enjoy handing Leo back his little "fancy" lecture from this morning, piece by piece in the gut.

Normally they'd approach with normal rules, but Master Splinter's presence is absent and the rush of the fight is still thick in Raph's veins. He doesn't bother calling out a warning, just kicks for Leo's chest and considers that ample starting call enough. It shouldn't be enough to connect, anyway_—_

Leo jerks back so far that he almost falls over. Easily dodged, but overdone. Raph frowns at him.

Leo is breathing too hard.

"We haven't even started, Fearless Leader. Don't tell me you're finished already?" His eyes narrow, tracking his brother's body. The muscles are covered with a light, almost unnoticed sheen of sweat.

"I don't feel so hot," Leo says abruptly.

"Not lookin' so hot, either," Raph counters grimly. He calls to the sofa without turning his head. "Don! We need ya here!"

"No," Leo protests. He shakes his head weakly, then stops, cringing. Presses his hands to his neck. Squeezes so hard that Raphael can see the muscles bulge in protest. "I… don't need help."

"Shut up or I'll kick your ass and say I won in the fair fight," Raphael snaps.

"What's wrong?" Don peers over the sofa.

"Leo over here is_—_"

"Just everybody be quiet," Leo whispers. "Stand still. I can't think."

"Like hell we're gonna do that," Raph growls, reaching forward. He yanks one of Leo's hands away from his throat_—_

The attack, when it comes, doesn't give Leonardo enough time to scream.

* * *

Pain.

He's been in pain before. Part of Leo knows that, is trying frantically to track down a time he's been in worse pain than this, but he comes up blank. Inconsequential. Oh god. Like someone shoved electrified wire through every part of his body. The mat against his shell. It's cold. He's on the floor. Why is he on the floor? He can't breathe. He can't breathe.

Someone is screaming. More than one. Donny_—_if something's happened to Donny, he'll_—_

'_No, it's you, you idiot. You're the one in trouble.' _He can't open his mouth to cry out for help. Everything is wired, wired shut, tight and awful and oh god it hurts_—_his jaw bone is trying to creep back into his skull, oh god_—_

His entire body is on fire, even his insides. What is it? Where did it come from? The enemy_—_no, the powder. Leo spasms, head jerking back, slamming into the mat. Pain. He can't close his eyes. The top of the lair looks very far away.

Hands on his own, trying to pry them away from his plastron. Clenched. Fists. Clawing. Air. He needs _air_. Too fast. Too late. Raphael, screaming in his face. He can hear him, but the words aren't coming through. He can't breathe. Can't move his arms, his legs. Everything twists underneath his skin, pulses. Can't breathe_—_

Fingers shoving into his mouth, yanking it open. Pressure on his chest. Leo knows it's Don's fingers because they taste like salt from the chips, and Mikey doesn't have that gentle of a touch. He knows that, like it's coming from somewhere very distant, and when he inhales, he can hear himself, ragged and panicked. This is all very wrong. He has to get up. Has to tell Raph to stop yelling in his face, has to_—_

Air. Air. He breathes, wetly.

"Hold on, Leo," Don is saying, frantic. "Just relax, try not to fight it, hold on to Raph_—_"

"What the hell is wrong with him!?"

"Mikey, _get Master Splinter_!"

"_Donny_! Answer me!"

"_I don't know_! Shut up and keep him from shutting his mouth_—_Leo, Leo, _breathe_, you gotta breathe, bro_—_"

Thicker fingers between his teeth. He'd been biting Donny, Leo realizes with numb shame. Tries not to press his teeth against Raph's skin, too, but he can't stop himself; his neck is a mess of pain, his muscles aren't obeying. His throat closes in on itself. Air. God, he can't_—_

The sound coming from his lungs. He's never heard it before.

"_Leo_! Leo, don't you _fucking _dare!"

Don pressing his hands against the convulsing flesh of Leo's neck and chest. It feels like everything's trying to escape his shell. It's almost funny. Leo doesn't have the breath to laugh. Saying something. Donnie, saying something. Oh god, it hurts. He hadn't even been prepared. Don, he wants to say. Raph. Donny, please. Why? Please what? Just something.

"—et him go, Raph! Just let him go!"

"_What_?!"

"Just _do _it!"

Hands gone. Fingers gone. Leo's teeth snap shut. He arches. His shell won't let his spine arc. Pain. No air left, nothing, nothing, _Donny—_

Leonardo jerks.

When he twists over on the mat, for a split-second, he thinks he's dead. The pain is gone. His body is still. The mat is cold and sticky; his own sweat, Leo realizes distantly. He can't see the lair so well anymore, and it's silent, too silent, not like home, not right. Air. Air, wheezing, light. Burning, but breathing.

A moment ago, he couldn't stop moving if they'd paid him. Now Leo can't move at all, even to tremble.

* * *

Too close. The only thing Donatello can do is shake. Too close.

"Donny," Raph chokes out, glancing his way with wide eyes. There's too many questions there that Don would love to know the answers to, but there isn't time. Instead, he takes a deep breath_—_the one their brother could have used a minute ago. Only a minute.

A lifetime, thinks Don. Too long. Too close.

"Don't touch him. I think it just makes it worse right now." God. It had been just a hunch. Don feels sick to his stomach, the snack he'd just had turbulently shifting around in it impatiently. Just a hunch and not even a good one, a wild guess, based off of television and literature instead of anything useful in his head, and it still might not be right but at least Leo is breathing now. Raspy, scared breathing. But breathing.

"What the hell?" Raphael looks like he's going to kill something if he doesn't get to touch his brother _right this instant_.

Don feels an answering surge of frustration. _'Easy. Important things first.' _He moves to Leo, crouches down next to his brother. Keeps his voice quiet, doesn't touch. Is too scared to know if he's right, to find out. "Leo, I know you're hurting right now but I need you to help me. Can you breathe alright?"

Leo's pupils have contracted, Don notes, but they search him out nevertheless. His brother's slumped form on the mat is boneless, sprawled. Unlike him. The fear inside Don's stomach solidifies into a ball of steel that drops down to the lowest point of his world.

Leo opens his mouth. "Yes," he slurs. "Now."

It's a small relief, but a welcome one. "Your muscles were convulsing," Don tells his brother softly. "It was an independent reaction, Leo. That means you had no control over it. You had trouble breathing, couldn't get your respiratory muscles to obey. Is all that right?"

"Yes?" Leo frowns, eyes flickering. Uncertain. "I can't move."

"Don't you dare try, either."

"Donnie, there was…" Leo stops, exhausted. His shaky inhales are the only noises in the room for a moment. "Keslemen," he says finally. "There was a powder. White. He threw it at me and I… I inhaled it in, I wasn't ready."

Don nods like he figured so. He had, in a way; just hadn't wanted to believe it. "Leo, did you swallow it orally or through the_—_"

"Both," Leo mumbles. "I… I thought it might be cocaine."

Next to them, Raph's bark of laughter is torn between disbelief and fear. "You're kiddin' now, right?" Silence. "You neglected to mention _that_, Fearless Leader, in your story," Raph snaps.

"I was fine," Leo whispers. "I was… stupid."

"At least we agree on somethin' for once. What the hell were you thinking?!"

"_Stop it_," Don hisses. "Both of you! Raph, if I'm right, we have to be careful. Anything could provoke another attack. A touch, a loud noise, even a stray _breeze_ right now_—_"

"If you're right?" Raph's head snaps to the side. "You know what's wrong?"

"I'm not sure if_—_"

"Leonardo!" Master Splinter's cry from the doorway interrupts; both of their heads swing towards its strength.

"Master Splinter, please, I need you to be quiet!" Don begs, making shushing motions with his hands.

"What has happened?" Demanding, but softer now. Splinter is getting older as the years trace into each other, but there's nothing old in the swiftness with which he descends the ramp to his children. Behind him, Michelangelo stumbles into the room, eyes wide and frightened.

"I got 'im," their youngest brother gasps. "I, I couldn't find_—_"

"You did good, Mikey," Raph says lowly.

The sight of their father silences the pounding of Don's heart for the first time in the past four minutes. "We have to be careful," he tells him weakly. "You can't touch him. Master Splinter, I_—_"

"My sons. Slow down, there is no need for this panic." Their father stops beside Don, his fingers curling around his shoulder. Though the words are refutable, the touch is enough to send Don to pieces on his knees; it's also enough to let him garner strength. By the time Splinter has kneeled beside him, his voice feels like it isn't tucked up somewhere in his esophagus anymore.

"Master, I think Leo's been poisoned."

Splinter glances at him sharply. "Poisoned? In the sewers?"

"On the mission."

"Poisoned?" hisses Raph. "Donny, what're you_—_"

"Father," Leonardo says, slowly turning his head. He opens the fingers in his outstretched hand.

Don shakes his head when Splinter looks to him. A darkness shifts over the rat's face, grim as stone. "Leonardo," their father says, the gentleness in his voice at odds with the distress that creases at his eyes, "please stay still, my son. I do not know what has happened, but your brothers and I will find the answer. You must rest, now. Do not let the fear overtake you."

"I need to take a sample, Leo," Don says, swallowing. "Mikey_—_I need swabs. Top shelf in my lab, in the first aid kit. _Now_."

A pause. Then the skittering noise of feet on stone and a distant crash. Don can't even bring himself to wonder what's broken. No matter now. He bends down close to Leo and studies the smooth green muscles of his neck. Still, then, for now. The seizure has left behind only weariness and heavy breathing.

Splinter doesn't ask the obvious questions of _how_ or _when—_instead, he looks to Don for the _what_. "This poison," short and to the point, sensing the urgency, "how do we remove it, Donatello?"

"I have to confirm that I'm right first," Don says. Tries not to listen to himself. "If I don't, the treatment could do just as much damage as the cause. I need to run a test. I need to_—_" and Leo is just watching him, still, fingers curled up in on themselves again and Don feels like something's ripped in his chest, "_—_need to call April if I'm right. Supplies. We'll need them." He just hopes he's wrong. "Raph?"

"Yeah."

"Get some bedding. We can't risk moving him out of here; he stays where he is. Don't touch him, just… get it ready. We move him over if another attack strikes, after it won't matter."

Raphael slinks out his sight-line like a shadow, a sour expression on his face that speaks too much of his internal fear. Mikey's footsteps coming back, a breathless cry of victory.

"Master, stay with Leo while I'm in the lab. If anything happens, you call for me. He'll be having… attacks. I don't know how long in between them yet. Short, but violent. He'll have trouble breathing and his body will… seize up. Like a vice."

Don can't say anything more than that. It's too hard. He just hopes that their father will understand.

"If this attack comes," Splinter asks quietly, "am I to leave him alone, my son?"

"Got 'em," Mikey says shortly, slapping a handful of swabs into Don's ready, outstretched hand.

"No," he answers the question. Lets them all fall to the floor except four. "At that point, it won't matter. Raph and I held onto him through the first. I only let go because I was afraid the extended stimuli was making it worse. I don't… if he goes into it, I can tell if we need to stop." At least, he hopes he can.

Leo is still watching, unreadable and so very limp. It's not right, Don thinks. He bends close and attempts to smile, but he can tell from Leo's softened features that the finished product is more pitiful than comforting.

"Leo, I need you to open your mouth. I'm going to swab it and then your other airways, okay? I need to see if I can't find a residue from what you inhaled."

Dismay crosses Leo's face. "I… drank water afterwards. To get rid of the taste."

His smile all but disappears, held on by a thread. "It's okay, Leo. You probably didn't get it all out of your nose." Don pauses. "What was the taste?"

"Bitter. Really bitter."

"Okay, that's good." It's something, anyway. "Open your mouth. I'm going to be really careful, okay?"

He takes four samples, two from the mouth and two from Leo's nose. If it had been any other situation, he would've laughed at the irritated expression on his brother's face after the second stick prodded around. As it is, Don instead spends the entire minute almost sick with suspension, praying internally, bartering with everything he can think of, that the gentle pushing won't send Leo back into convulsions.

"That wasn't so bad," he mutters when finished. Leo closes his eyes.

When Don leaves them there, Splinter and Mikey and Leo are in a semicircle, two open spots beside them. Under the lights, Leonardo seems more dead than alive, face turned into the floor, just waiting. He looks very alone without anyone touching him, the careful space between his family and himself a gulf created out of terror and necessity. Waiting.

Waiting for the next time. Don tears his gaze away, hurrying to the lab. A next time_—_over his dead body, he swears. And meanwhile, in his head playing like a macabre cartoon, he's thinking about Norman Bates and a house.

* * *

Mikey wishes he knew what happened in between the good day he'd been having and the nightmare it became. It somehow seems important. Like, if he'd done something different, this wouldn't be happening at all.

Leo hasn't opened his eyes for a while. But he's not sleeping_—_Mikey can hear the unevenness of his breathing. It feels like forever. It's been maybe a few minutes, tops, since Donnie left them.

"Michelangelo," Master Splinter murmurs, "you must sit still for your brother. We cannot risk triggering any continued effects of whatever ails him."

"Sorry, sensei." Cross legs, inhale deeply. He knows this routine. Mikey tries not to fidget anymore, relaxing his muscles. Like meditation, right? Right. Except if this were meditation practice, Leo'd already be in a trance and looking all solemn and stoic and cool, not looking like a doll someone threw across the floor, like maybe one of Mikey's action figures, all stiff and limbs flailed, hidden under the bed somewhere and forgotten. Not like he's scared but sort of trying to hide it, and failing miserably because if Mikey can tell, then_—_

"Michelangelo." Splinter's spidery fingers rest across his head, soft skin and wiry hair a comfort as much as an admonishment. Mikey stills.

He doesn't ever want to have to see his brother do something like that again.

"Don't worry, Leo. Donny's going to find a cure." The words are lame and fumble their way out of his mouth. It's like scoring bad on a video game; every bar suddenly dips lower. "Next time, I'll definitely get the head honcho," he adds, and that sounds better.

Leo opens his eyes and smiles, tiredly.

Mikey grins back, the worry fading. If his brother's well enough to give him such a fondly exasperated look, it can't be nearly as bad as it seems. He opens his mouth to crack a joke about_—_

"How's he doin' now?" Raph's voice echoes. Everyone winces. When he appears from the shadows, Raph's face is as chagrined as it can possibly get. "Sorry," he mutters. His arms are heaped with blankets and pillows that Mikey recognizes as Leo's. It's a nice touch. If he hadn't known taunting Raph would make Splinter mad at him, he'd go ahead and do it.

"_He_," Leo says in annoyance, "is perfectly capable of answering for himself. And he's fine."

"Your definition of fine needs a lot of work there, Leo." Raphael rolls his eyes. "Sorta like your definition of 'fancy'_—_"

He drops the blankets on the mats.

It's a single thump. A soft brush of wind against Leo's temple, cool and dusty like the lair itself. It probably smells like home.

Mikey has never heard his brother scream before.

* * *

'_Stupid, stupid, stupid!'_

He hadn't been able to move for a second. Just stood there, like an idiot. Frozen. Leo's scream is strangled and cuts off, and all Raphael can do, all he can do, is just stand there.

'_You talk shit all the time about wanting him out of here. You push him away. You want him gone so damn bad you can taste it. Well, you got your wish, Raph. You've killed him. Your fearless leader.'_

Maybe he freezes, but he's still the first to move. The horrified, dumb stare on Mikey's face, the _'what do I do what do I do' _painting everything_—_every thing, always, out on the sleeve, out there for Mikey. Raph pushes him out of the way, hears him hit the mat with a thump, doesn't care. Leo is writhing, seized up, an invisible enemy Raph brought down on him without thinking twisting every muscle he can see, spreading his brother out like a_—_

'_Stupid fucking moron! You heard Donny. You heard him and you still—you've finally done it, you've gone and killed him. Killed Leo._

'_Leo, you numbskull.'_

Raph is cursing and he can only barely hear himself, on the edge of sound, somewhere along with the uncomfortable protest of Leo's shell as his brother tries to arch his way out of it. Raph pushes down on his plastron. It doesn't help. Leo is trying to bend his spine in ways that aren't available to a turtle; his body rocks, squirming, pushing against the natural casing of his torso. There is no relief.

"Master Splinter," Raphael gasps. "His legs. Grab his legs_—_"

Leo's arms pressed tight to the mat, stretching as far as they can go in opposite directions_—_like the kind of toy Mikey used to have, Raph thinks wildly, the rubber man you could pull on that would stretch like a_—_but Leo isn't rubber, is just skin and bone and blood, and it's too much. It's like all his limbs want to escape away from his body. The legs are straight and shaking wildly, bulging muscle at the calves, all wrong_—_

He senses rather than sees when Splinter tries to hold onto Leo's legs. Beneath Raph, his brother's face is fixed in a painful, grotesque mockery of a smile, teeth bared and jaw set tightly.

He can't tell if Leo's breathing. "Mikey!" Raphael bellows. "_Don_!"

Master Splinter is whispering something, low and soothing. It sounds like a prayer or a chant. The fear behind it is unmistakable.

Don's footsteps, a sudden weight behind Raph's shell. Fingers pressing into his shoulder.

"Pressure on his chest," his brother gasps, winded, and then his hands are over Raph's, pressing down hard on plastron. Leo convulses under their hold. Pushes up against them, rocking wildly on his shell. The desperation in his strangled noises makes something in Raph flare in agony, but at least they're sounds, which means he's sort of breathing, which means he might_—_

"Mikey, his arms_—_" Don says desperately.

Raph can barely see Mikey above them by Leo's head, wrapping his own arms tightly around Leo's shoulders and biceps. Trying to keep them to the floor. Trying to keep Leo's head from snapping around too much with the weight of his body.

He doesn't hear the words spilling out of Mikey's mouth, but they sound hurried and frantic and not much like Mikey at all.

If he's killed him, he'll never forgive himself. He might not even if Leo makes it. Raph grits his teeth against the wounded words trying to fumble out off his own tongue and tries to hold on, if only for his brother's sake. It can't end here. Not like this. He ain't saying goodbye, not like this.

"Move him over to the bedding," Don snaps. It's the third time he's said it, Raph realizes, but the first time he's heard it properly. He nods shakily.

"On three_—_"

"Go now!" Don puts his hands under Leo's rocking shell, joined by Raph, and Mikey props ups his head and Splinter his legs. It's two feet. Two feet and the rest of Raph's life. Leo almost squirms off their hands, his strangled sounds growing higher. He hits the bedding Raph dropped haphazardly with a thump that, had he any air left, would have knocked it clean out of him. But there isn't any air, Raph realizes in horror, because his brother can't breathe.

"What do we do, Donny?" he hears himself asking, desperate.

Don doesn't answer. He puts his fingers to Leo's neck, then his plastron, and looks up at Raph with wild eyes. Trapped eyes. "I… I don't know," Don whispers, stricken, and that's when reality slams home to Raph.

They can do nothing. Just wait. Fucking _wait_.

Wait and pray.

Raph falls to his knees beside his brother and takes his hand, clenching his fingers around Leo's. He doesn't know any prayers. So instead he closes his eyes and recites every single thing he's ever hated Leo for and, one by one, takes them back until he feels his brother still again.

* * *

It feels like forever before the convulsions slow to a halt. It's only barely been two minutes. Don counts, in his head. Counts along with the steady stream of observations, filed away distantly below the screaming panic in his brain, the '_his temperature is skyrocketing—I'll need to take blood pressure to—all the symptoms but if I make a mistake—please breathe—please, please—he wants to hyperextend, his limbs are—central nervous system, that's where it must—no, don't stop breathing now, don't stop—'_

He's never felt so appallingly useless in his entire life. What good is being a scientist when he can't do anything except hold on and whisper, if Leo can even hear him, that it's going to be okay?

When Donatello had woken up this morning, nothing had said today would be one of the worst days of his life. They'd had Corn Flakes for breakfast. Leo'd bugged them all to train before the mission tonight. Mikey'd slurped his milk. He'd sort of been thinking about starting a new project after all this was over.

Now the world is a pinpoint in his arms.

It's barely two minutes. Two minutes, two hundred years. One minute and fifty-three seconds and a nearly-sobbed breath that escapes Don without warning. Leo finally shudders beneath them, then falls limp. No one speaks. Splinter strokes his son's head, but says nothing.

"K-keep him wrapped up. Don't touch him." Only a single falter, one break in Don's voice. His hands won't stop shaking and he needs them to, needs to be stable to help Leonardo. "I'm almost done. We'll have help soon."

Useless words. Raphael puts a hand over his face and keeps it there, burying his agony. The other hand clings to Leo's, resolutely squeezing harder than even their brother's disobedient muscles were. Mikey has tears in his eyes, fat drops rolling down his cheeks unchecked.

Don doesn't want to know what his own face looks like. Nor does he want to see Splinter's_—_instead, he gets up and goes to the lab on rubbery legs. On his way, he takes out the Shell Cell.

It's time to call in for help.

* * *

_End of Chapter One_


	2. No Way Out

_Lockdown_

By Kay

Disclaimer: Don't own TMNT. But I can pretend.

Author's Notes: Some answers in this section, but not all of them. We've got a while to go yet. If anyone's curious about how the characters are acting, just wait until next chapter. We haven't even begun to see the true depths of their reactions. Mikey, in particular, is waiting to show his true and most brilliant colors. And Leo… definitely haven't hit bottom with Leo, either.

Thank you so much for all your kind reviews! (blushes hotly) It's so nice of everyone. I only hope I don't disappoint in the future. For anyone who disliked the tense, I'm sorry. I read so much present and past tense that I sort of use them both constantly. XD;; I won't change it, but you have my apologies. I have half my stuff I'll upload in the future in third person, though, so maybe you'll like that more.

I really hate this chapter 'cause I think it's overly dramatic and emotional and OOC. Sorry. Hope it's okay, anyway. Thank you again for all your encouragement!

* * *

Chapter Two: _No Way Out_

* * *

Don wonders if this is what being in between a rock and a hard place feels like. 

Like he can't breathe right, like his chest is too tight between his shell and plastron, like the world is trying to suck all the oxygen out of the atmosphere and replace it with bricks. Maybe Leo feels this way. He tries not to think about it. The swabs are still on his desk. He picks them up carefully and dials the Shell Cell with his other hand simultaneously, the number as familiar as his own name. Help. They need more help.

They don't have a lot of options, unfortunately.

He hadn't glanced at the clock yet, but he needs to. Needs to start keeping records in his head. Important, for Leo. The mission at 10 p.m., but not finished until 11:30 or so, and when Mikey had turned on the television it'd been 11:47 p.m., which meant… He doesn't know what it means, any of it. Madness. No. He has to keep track. This could be important.

'_He said it tasted bitter. Muscular convulsions, respiratory distress—probably not a direct problem with the lungs so much as the inability to get his muscles to obey even a simple, automatic and rote pattern like breathing. The spasms won't let him. I need to run tests and see if I can't pick up any residue on the saliva. Proof. Proof, then I can help him. _

'_I can help him.'_

It was likely that Leo had made contact with Keslemen's powder not long before they'd left the building_—_within minutes, no doubt. Twenty, twenty five minutes from contact? But only_—_had it been ten minutes? Fifteen? Between the first and second attack. It doesn't look good for the next one. No, _not_ a next one. Don listens to the Shell Cell ring and it sounds like it's farther away and not pressed to between his shoulder and head like it really is. Not a next one because Leo might not make it through that. This has to happen _now_.

'_I'm going on a limb here. There's no guarantee it's poison; it could be an allergic reaction of some kind. I almost wish it was. I don't even have proof. I will have proof, but not right now. But Leo doesn't have the time to wait. We have to cover all angles.' _He can only hope April and Casey will forgive them if it's for nothing, but something tells Don it won't matter. They're all family here.

Casey picks up. It feels like the twentieth ring. "Hey, what's up?"

"I need you and April to get some things for me. Now."

"Donny?" Casey pauses. Don can tell from the noise that he's shifting the phone to his other ear. "Uh, like what? Groceries? Hey, April says you guys did real good with the drug bust thing, it was on the news just_—_"

"Leo's hurt bad," Don interrupts. No time to be polite, just strictly to the point. Rapid-fire. "I can't fix him like this. I need you and April to get some things for me, whatever way you can."

"_What_? What happened?" The alarm in Casey's voice would be comforting at any other moment, but right now Don just feels despair at it. They don't have _time_ for this. "What's wrong with_—_"

"I'll tell you later, I just need you to_—_"

A shuffle and then April's voice, clear and calm. "List them, Donny."

He's going to do something _amazing _for her after this. He's never wanted to hug her more than he has at this low point. "I'm going to need activated charcoal. Several grams worth_—_at least ten. Poison control centers, pharmacies, they'll all have it. We need chloroform, too. A lot of it. Also, if there are… muscle relaxants, I don't know, the strongest you can find_—_"

"Got it. What else?"

His head is spinning. What else? He doesn't know. He doesn't know _anything_ yet. "Just get them and get down here ASAP. Please, April. It's… bad."

"We're on it, Donny. You guys hold on."

The line goes dead but for the first time, Don feels like he has a little more control of the situation. Activated charcoal is a given; they'll need it sooner or later to get the toxin out of Leo's system. If there is a toxin. He has no idea if muscle relaxants or chloroform will help, but until he knows more, it's all they have. Maybe if they knock Leo out, it will be enough to stave off the effects. He needs to look up more information. He needs to get on-line and_—_

No, not enough time, he needs to know the answer. That's what's important. If he doesn't know the answer, if he's wrong, then all that time's wasted. _'Get a name to the enemy first. Get a direction.'_

He's a mechanical genius, not a doctor. But he's the closest they have.

And a mechanical genius isn't too shabby, either, Don reminds himself. His eyes search his lab for the storage bin or shelf that's holding what he's looking for. _'It's somewhere around here. Somewhere, somewhere, why can't I—'_

Third shelf, near the bottom, older things he's never discarded. He remembers it like yesterday. Still there. He'd built it on a whim, based off of science journals and a vague idea of being able to test their water for chemicals, but it'd never really been used. He's never going to throw another invention away again after today. He can test Leo's samples on there, look for the specific chemical formula, check his findings and get the proof and get the research and get the help_—_

Not enough time, but it has to be. This has to be _right_. Don yanks away the parts built up in front of his machine, throwing them to the side. Has to be right. He's thinking about formulas and toxin treatments he barely recalls, little bits of data streaming through his brain, the instructions for working this thing, and oh it'd work, it had to work, _please_ let it work_—_

It's supposed to be faster. Better than anyone else's. Don hadn't planned it that way, it just sort of happened, like most of his gadgets. A turtle ahead of his time, Raph likes to say. Up until this day, Don's never really given it any thought. For the first time, though, he's praying Raph is right and that he's smarter than any of them thought.

A lot depends on it. On him.

He carries the machine over to the table and pushes the entire workstation's contents off onto the floor with a crash.

This _has_ to work. It has to be _good_ enough. The only other alternative is one that Don refuses, against all his natural practicality, to contemplate. Because maybe this has already ended and when he goes back, Leo will be sitting up and grinning at them all, but his gut is telling him differently. All the evidence points in the other direction. And if he's right…

There are some things you can't take chances on, and Don has never been a fan of chance from the beginning. Casting a die away is one thing; casting his brother's life is quite another.

'_Hold on, Leo. Just a little longer… that's all I need.'_

* * *

Leo is thinking about heights. 

It seems like a stupid thing to be thinking about, especially at a time like this. He's been staring at the ceiling and trying not to look at Raph's bowed head and hunched shoulders. Mikey's tears are smeared across his face in a wet sheen, turning his eyes an irritated red. Splinter's fingers had caressed his head a moment ago, the skin papery with age and Leo's hypersensitivity lending to the identification of each wrinkle, but now it is gone. It's probably a good thing, considering Don's advice. Leo can't bring himself to stop missing it, but he doesn't complain.

He recognizes in a time like this, he's still the one that has to be strong.

But it's hard when he can't move. Can't grab Mikey's hand and reassure him everything's okay. Can't smack Raph over the head, call him an idiot for getting that look on his face_—where'd that come from, why is it so familiar?—_and bait him until the flames spark again. Call Don back from the lab and offer to help somehow. Smile at their father, apologize for the moment of weakness earlier. Leo isn't going to let the terror creeping up his spine, partner to the agonizing pangs, to overcome him again.

He can't even work up the energy to say something. His throat is a mess. His tongue, a lead weight. Leo feels cheated, silenced. More than the pain still thrumming in his muscles, that's what bothers him the most.

So he waits. Catches his breath. Thinks about heights.

'_Hypothetical situation,'_ he says to himself. _'Say there's a choice involved and I could either go through this again… or dangle from the highest building in the world from a creaky pole. What would I rather be doing?'_

It's not that he's frightened of heights anymore, per se. Master Splinter saw to that. But sometimes Leo still feels that familiar churning in his stomach, some dullness that speaks of an innate dislike of hopping rooftop to rooftop, of the skyscrapers and the sensation of falling. It's never the landing the scares him, but the freefall, the space where he can't stop himself, and it's like the nightmares he used to have as a child, cold-sweat spinning things in the dark where there's nothing to hold onto anymore except emptiness. He can't control his descent. He can't even see the bottom.

Leo's been trained to get past that; he can see to the problem at hand, what really matters, in order to push it aside. The last time he'd been nervous about heights is so far back that he can barely recall it. A good thing, considering most of their time is spent traveling on the bare cement backs of buildings. It's his night job, in a sense. He's got it down to an art. That doesn't mean he has to enjoy it all the time. What makes Leo most afraid is that maybe someday it _will_ become a fear again and his family will suffer for it.

He works hard to make sure that doesn't happen.

'_Creaky pole or spine attempting to break free of my shell,'_ Leo thinks. The annoying thing is, it's not really a tough decision. At least he can _do_ something with a creaky pole.

The mistake had been stupid. He can see that now. He wonders what he'd been thinking up in those drug labs, smiling at himself in the mirror. He can remember how one eye had been blotted out by a black stain over the glass. Blind spot. Why is he always making mistakes?

Now his family is suffering for his failure as much as he is. Leo struggles against the welling shame, the urge to simply _move_ to prove he hasn't surrendered almost overwhelming. But he remembers Don's warning and more importantly, the consequences. Besides, Leo doesn't think he could move even if he worked up the strength. His muscles aren't obeying him.

His own body has become the traitor, Leo thinks bitterly. When he'd been told his worst enemy was himself, he never thought about it literally.

He has to trust in his brothers. That's the easy part. Don's in the lab, working to find a name to the invader in his system. If there's anyone that can do it, it's Donny. The others will do everything in their power, as well. What worries Leo is trusting in himself; there's no use to any of it if Leo can't hold on long enough for the aid that will surely come. He wants to be optimistic and hope that that'd been it, two attacks, strange but finished, but Leo plans for all angles as the leader he wants to become. There's too much wrong with this situation. It's not over by a long shot.

He recognizes danger when it comes, however intimately. Donny had said it's poison. Leo tries to think of what he knows about poisons and comes up with only a handful of Japanese history, gleaned from books and Splinter's occasional old stories about his homeland. But those are the poisons of the ninja clans. Keslemen deals in elements far more modern, crude, and dishonorable.

Maybe the attacks will just keep continuing, Leo's mind spins traitorously. Maybe they'll keep punching at him, without warning, until his body can't take it anymore and he dies. Or maybe they get even worse. Maybe it will only take one more before his lungs falter under the strain. He doesn't know. He's not like Donny, he doesn't know anything about their anatomy and its inner workings, and what Donny knows is a small collection at best.

His entire body dreads the idea. He doesn't want to do it again. It hurts. It hurts and Leo cringes and pretends he doesn't hear the tiny voice pleading inside of him that no, not again, he can't do it _again_. Just make it twice. Just twice. He'll get better. He'll do better.

He pushes it down, the panic and the fear. Bundles it somewhere and stores it. He's had a lifetime of locking that sort of stuff up to contend with, after all. What's this? Just another night. He's been beaten black and blue by the elite ninja of the Foot Clan. He's had swords run into him, bullets graze him, been sedated to the point of illness, and had his teeth broken. This, this is nothing.

He has to get his family through this in one piece, that's all. There isn't time to be selfish. There's not enough energy in him. Best to conserve. _'Don't let it get you down. Don't let it keep you there. Focus, you can get through this. Remember the connection between your mind and body; keep it strong. Hold onto whatever you can.'_

Just look at it like a test, Leo tells himself firmly. Overcome this and every other pain will be a piece of cake. Piece of pizza. He was hungry an hour ago but now the idea of food turns Leo's stomach inside out. He closes his eyes.

It feels like hours, but it's only minutes.

This would be such a humiliating way to die.

"Michelangelo," Master Splinter says quietly, "please go to Donatello. He may need your assistance, my son."

Leo opens his eyes in time to see Mikey's head shoot up. "But Master," his little brother protests, "what if Leo_—_"

"We will call if we need either of you. Any aid we can give to Donatello to speed his study could mean the difference for Leonardo," their father says gently. Leo hopes someday his brothers will listen to him with half the attention they give to Master Splinter, but he knows it isn't likely. Their father is something else altogether. "Please, Michelangelo. We will keep watch."

Mikey is wavering, but easily swayed. He fumbles to his feet clumsily, all his normal grace and athletic prowess dissipating under the weight of the past fifteen minutes or so. "Um, okay," he mumbles. "I'll… I'll go help Donny. I'll be back. Hold on, bro, I'm…"

"It'll be okay, Mikey," Leo murmurs, recognizing the fear stirring in his brother's eyes as very close to his own. Mikey latches onto the simple words, inhaling and drawing strength. He straightens and grins weakly at Leo from above.

"Yeah. Sit tight, Leo. Don't go anywhere!" As if he would. And then his little brother's gone, footsteps pounding on the mats as he runs for Don's lab. Always so loud, Mikey. Leo takes comfort in the fact that at least some things haven't changed in the course of the day. He also takes comfort that at least, even sprawled out on the floor in this embarrassing way with all methods of movement taken away from him, he can still do something as a big brother. It's not much control to latch onto, but it's something.

"Are you in pain, my son? Do you feel ill?" Splinter's voice draws him back. Leo blinks and tries to turn towards his father, head lolling against his shoulder.

"No… not right now." Tired, mostly. So incredibly tired. His muscles are screaming at him but it's a welcome reprieve from earlier_—_he's never felt pain like that before, not in his entire life. It's not even going to leave a scar, Leo thinks. There will be nothing to remind him later. He's not sure if that's good or bad. There has to be a later, though. He can't accept anything else.

Raph isn't speaking still. He hunches down on the mat, staring at the floor and one of his wrists, turning it slowly as if the motion is fascinating. Leo feels a spark of irritation. The least Raph could do is look at him.

"Raph," he says, forcing the word out of his abused throat. Wishes he could yank his brother's face up into the light again. "Raph, are you ignoring me?"

Raph snorts.

Stupid question. Of course he is. Leo sighs internally.

"What happened was not your fault, Raphael," Splinter states calmly. "I know you feel your actions triggered_—_"

"My _actions_?" Raph asks hoarsely. "I didn't just open the door to his maker. I invited the bastard in for tea and signed a damn contract, sensei."

It's unusual honesty for Raph. Emotions in his voice that Leo can't place and when he tries, all he can think about is that time when they were eleven and Raph had accidentally pushed Donny into a broken pipe while they were wrestling in the sewers. Leo can remember Raph kicking open the door to the lair with his foot, blood seeping down his shell and Donny's forehead pressed against his neck. Raph carrying Donny and looking like a favorite toy had been broken and he wasn't entirely sure how. Like he knew he'd be punished but still hadn't figured out why.

Don had been fine. Leo sometimes thinks, when he's meditating on his most frustrating and yet similar brother, that Raph had carried the worst wounds from that night.

He doesn't want to dig into them anymore. Doesn't want to stir the waters, rock the boat. Leo is so sick of being sick of Raph. Because the truth is, he's not sick of him, but touching Raph is like drawing blood on accident and Leo can't seem to connect right. The words never come out the way they should, the intentions get skewed somewhere in translation. That Leo doesn't get angry at Raph, he gets angry _for_ him_—_Leo doesn't know how to explain it without making things worse.

And now Raph is ignoring him again, not listening. Like Leo can't listen. Both of them doing the same dance. It shouldn't be this way. They're grown up now. Raph shouldn't carry the world on his shoulders; it should be Leo's job. That's how it's supposed to happen. Why can't Raph ever just let things _happen_ the way they should? Leo wants to protect his family, but it's hard when they won't let themselves be protected.

But then again, they're not the ones curled up on the cement and waiting to be saved. The shame curling in his gut hurts worse than the actual memory of the attacks. He tries not to let it show.

"A little caution is not a bad thing," their father tells Raphael quietly, "but it is also true that we know little of this poison, Raphael. Do not take the blame so quickly for that which is done in ignorance."

"Donny _told_ me_—_"

"Let it _go_, Raph," Leo says. "It's done and it doesn't matter. I'm fine." It saps his energy to speak, so he leaves it at that. Raph bristles, though, like he's been jabbed with something sharp.

"Doesn't _matter_?" he hisses, clenching his fists. "Are you crazy, Leo? Oh, wait, I forgot. The great Leo can never show weakness, right? God _forbid_ ya could actually be upset like a freakin' normal guy, like you're some_—_"

"Raphael, that is enough!"

"If it bothers you that much, fine! What do you _want_ me to do?" Leo demands, his entire body tensing the best it can. It's a strange sensation. Normally his shoulders would be up; when he fights Raphael, his back and shell feel heavier, more wound together, but now there is an absence of that tightness. All he wants to do is sleep, but if Raph wants to make this an issue, Leo will follow it.

If it gets that look off Raph's face, he'll argue all the idiot wants.

His brother doesn't have an answer, though. Raphael snarls at him and then looks away. He stares at his wrist instead, rotating it again, opening and closing the three fingers making up his fist like they're the most disgusting things he's ever seen. _'He can't look at me,' _Leo suddenly realizes with a dull throb of shock. _'He can't even stand to see me like this.'_

He'd been wrong. Now he feels very, very ill.

"Raph, I'm _okay_," Leo says, not sure if he's pleading or angry, but somehow certain he has to say something. He tries to move his arm towards his brother, but it refuses to work. And the words that come, they don't seem right at all, but it's what fumbles out of Leo's mouth. He's so inadequate. "It's going to be fine. Don's going to figure this out."

"Whatever," Raph mutters, gaze skittering across the lair and glaring into the stone.

When Splinter does not push it, most likely more concerned with the matter at hand, there's only strained silence. Leo closes his eyes again. If Raph can't watch him, he won't watch Raph. If he wants it to be that way, then—

Leo wants to sink into the floor.

Leo hates that Raph makes him feel his own weaknesses that much more acutely. Accents them. Blows them up until they're all Leo can see. It's what makes it so easy for Raph to get under his skin, to wound him carelessly sometimes, though Leo, as the ninja he is, covers them in the cloak of darkness and keeps every drop of blood a secret. Now Raph can't look at him. Raph's upset because Leo's not upset. They have no grasp, no bearing on this situation, no preparation, and Raph hates that just as much as Leo does. They've always been that way. He shouldn't understand, but he does.

But knowing that and not feeling as though his brother's shoved his own failure back into his face—_got them into all this, and now he can't even make Raph see reason, doesn't want Raph to see this, doesn't want any of them to see him like this, but no choice and no control_—these are two different things.

Leo thinks about heights.

He wishes he were three hundred miles in the air on that creaky pole in his imagination. The darkness looming under him right now is of an uglier, more foreboding sort. And despite the fact his entire family is working to save him from it, Leo has never felt more alone.

* * *

The first thing Mikey notices is that Don's lab is messier than he's ever seen it. The shelf Mikey had banged into in his earlier hurry to get the swabs is still hanging by one set of brackets, the parts and wires once coiled on it scattered on the floor. That doesn't surprise him. But the workstation_—_generally kept meticulous, despite Mikey's best efforts_—_has been destroyed. Gadgets, half-finished and normally handled so carefully by his intelligent brother, are strewn. Broken. Swept clear off the desks. Files and papers crumpled under hurried feet. 

For a second, Mikey can't move. His feet take root in the cement. It's like walking into another world. Someplace alien.

The whole last half hour has been like this. His stomach balls up into itself; he feels queasy. Leo. Leo's on the floor, too, and now so is Donny's stuff. He stumbles over the mess that's become their home and it's only Donny, standing over his table and yanking plugs out of the wall socket, that brings his mind back to the problem at hand.

No time to panic or wonder where things went wrong. "Donny," Mikey says, kicking a wrench out of the way. His brother is hunched over a machine Mikey barely recognizes; even if he had flash cards and a million years to study, Mikey could never name all of Don's inventions. They pile in closets and every inch of space. "Master Splinter sent me to_—_"

"Power up my computer and get on the Internet," Don orders quickly, not even glancing up. His gaze is riveted to the complex machine, his fingers pressing buttons and flicking switches so fast that Mikey can barely follow. The contraption comes to life with a low drone.

"Got it." Barely a flicker of acknowledgement, but Mikey doesn't expect any. He turns and slides into the computer chair_—_Donny's chair, and the last time he'd been in it, he'd been spinning circles, like a game_—_and Don's computer, which is hibernating but not anymore and he has no idea how this'll help, but as long as it does then nothing matters. He knows Donny wouldn't ask if it weren't important. And this way, he's not picturing Leo.

"Don, this thing up on here_—_"

"Just shut it."

"But_—_"

"Cancel it, Mikey," Don says, gentle even in his haste. No hesitation, though. Mikey exits the program that had been running on the monitor originally, taking up space and speed. It looks important. Something that took a lot of time. Now it's gone.

He brings up a window into the Internet.

"What do I do now?"

"Get on a search engine," Don says quickly. "I want you to look up something. Listen carefully, Mikey. Type in 'strychnine' and 'symptoms,' okay? That's strychnine. S-t-r-y-c-h-n-i-n-e."

Mikey does so with clumsy fingers.

"And Mikey…" But now his brother hesitates. Mikey glances at him. Don meets his gaze for an instant, regret brewing behind his brother's brown eyes. "Mikey, I'll need you to read aloud to me while I'm working. I can't… waste the time. But don't think about it, okay?"

The search engine comes up. Mikey begins to click links. They have frightening names. "Yeah, okay," he says quietly.

"Don't be scared," Don says. "Just don't think about it. It's only one possibility."

"What d'you want me to read?"

"The chemical compound. Symptoms." Don exhales loudly. "Treatment."

There's something cold and foreign in his chest, too. Unfamiliar. It's like walking in a black field of mines. Mikey automatically begins to scroll down the first window until he recognizes keywords. In the background, Don begins to move again, spurred by their lack of time. Mikey isn't stupid. He knows his brothers want to protect him; will, at every given chance, do so. The fact Donny wants to do so now says a lot about the situation.

Reading some of this, Mikey sort of wishes it could stay that way.

But he also remembers Leo, still crumpled on the mats and surrounded by blankets, and sort of pale and so still and maybe it's going to be tough but Leo's always been there for _him_ and—

Mikey starts to read.

He tries not to think about it.

Don is clattering around in the background, the hum of the machine pervading everything but never drowning out Mikey's voice. Steady. He doesn't understand half of the medical terms he's reading. He tries not to give anything away when it's more than obvious, though. Don, from the corner of Mikey's eye, carefully handling the swabs he'd taken samples with, the flicker of light—

"Death generally comes in two to three hours time," Mikey reads. "Its cause is most commonly asphyxiation, medullary paralysis, or—"

"Skip that."

Another link. It says the same things. Mikey avoids the things Don doesn't want to hear. Whatever Don doesn't want _Mikey_ to hear. But Mikey still has eyes. "After eight to ten attacks, the victim normally dies in mid-convulsion as—"

"Skip that."

Another link. Another. Don's voice, tense as he works behind Mikey, telling him when to read further or when to stop. The big picture piles up. Even if Mikey's not as smart as Don when it comes to this stuff and can't read the big names, he can figure it out. It's bad. It's real bad. He wonders why Don won't just treat Leo for it when it's so obviously this poison, but then he reads that it resembles tetanus and other toxins, although Don tells him to skip that part. Mikey takes it in, anyway.

Finally, he feels like he's going to thaw. "Treatment should control the symptoms first before detoxification is attempted," Mikey recites, leaning forward in the computer chair. "Therapy should be supportive and symptomatic. Be aware there is no—"

He stops.

"Mikey," Don says after a long pause. He comes up behind his brother and puts his arms on his shoulders, squeezing lightly. "That's enough. Just leave it there, I can do the rest."

He swallows and blinks back the hot burn of tears. Mikey hadn't even realized they were coming again. He stares at the computer screen and then shakes his head stubbornly. "I'm fine."

"Mikey—"

"No. I can do it."

"You've done so much, Mikey. But don't you want to be with Leo?" Don asks tenderly. In the computer monitor's reflection, he's nothing but a bright glare behind Mikey's shell with blank eyes. "I'm not the only one who's going to need help."

Yeah, Mikey wants to be with Leo. He wants to be anywhere but here in this suddenly strange room and these stupid words mocking him. This is Donny's world. Donny's good at this sort of stuff. He doesn't want to have to think about it or know what's going to happen. He wishes Leo were here to do something, Leo always knows what to—

But he's not and he doesn't, Mikey thinks numbly. Leo's in the living room and not here, and he doesn't know what to do. None of them do.

"I'm okay," he mumbles. Rubs his eyes furiously with both fists. This is so stupid; he can't hold them back like this. Don's hands fall away. "Seriously, I'm cool. Go back to work. I can finish."

"You sure?"

They don't have the time. "Yeah, I'm okay. It's for Leo, right?"

"Right." One last brush against the back of his head, a warm parody of the smacks Mikey's taken in the past from his brothers. Then Don's gone and Mikey's alone with the words staring back at him again. He takes a deep breath and begins to read again. He doesn't stumble. He doesn't cry.

The machine makes noises.

It seems like forever, but finally Donny says very quietly, "Got it."

It's the best news he's heard all day. Mikey abandons his post and Don's already out the door, so he follows on his brother's heels. Splinter and Raph are still hovering in the central region of the lair, the last member of their family tucked between them. Mikey is struck, very suddenly, by how weird this all looks from the outside.

He shakes it off. It has nothing to do with anything right now.

"It wasn't easy," Don tells them, talking so fast that everything jumbles together into a long slide, "but I managed to isolate what I thought was the powder's residue and compared it to the molecular formula. The machine confirmed everything. We need to start treatment as soon as possible. April and Casey are already on their way, but we have to discuss options for—"

He stops. Mikey glances back, puzzled, and then he sees the dismay on Don's face. Looks back ahead to where Raph stares at his hands and burrows his brow. Splinter gazes at them both with very tired eyes. Leo doesn't move at all… but he's not in the same position as before, Mikey suddenly realizes.

"There was another attack," Splinter says.

Don puts his fingers over his face and inhales. "They're getting closer," he says. Splinter nods, though his son cannot see him.

Raph stirs listlessly. "He couldn't breathe," he says, voice hollow. "I tried to give 'im CPR… but it was like tryin' to keep hold of a…"

"Sorry," Leo rasps. He doesn't open his eyes. Mikey feels his belly lurch and goes to his brother's side, folding on his knees.

"Donny," he says, panic lashing away inside of him with no way to unleash it, "what do we do? It said—"

"I know, Mikey." Don rubs his forehead and then lets his hands drop. "Raph. I need to talk to you in the kitchen. Mikey, keep Master Splinter company. Something happens? You call us _immediately_. Understand?"

Splinter bows his head like it has a weight on top of it. Mikey knows that feeling. He echoes the movement, already knowing what will be discussed and wanting no part of it. They'll need him later, but right now—

Right now it's Leo that needs him, so Mikey stays behind. Even if he can't hold his brother's hand like he'd done for Mikey so many times in the past, through sick days and pitch black sewer pipes, then the least Mikey can do is let him know someone's here. He talks again, talks steady, but this time there isn't anything scary about what he's saying. Instead he talks about dinner. About video games. About Klunk.

They're better words than the truth, anyway.

* * *

Another attack. He wishes, irrationally, that he'd been there for it. Knows he does more good in the lab, fighting to stop it, and that's more important than being additional support. That doesn't mean Don doesn't feel the burn of it. Leo may not have been alone, but he deserved to have all his brothers there with him. What if it'd been the last? What if— 

'_Don't go down that lane yet. It didn't happen. Move on.'_

Another attack and so close together—the little yellow wall clock in the kitchen has sunflowers on it, a gift from the turtles to their master five years ago, and it reads 12:28 a.m. The little second hand is one minute early, though. Don had wanted to fix it but Master Splinter always insists he likes it just the way it had come. Don hadn't understood then, but he does now. It's a lesson about change and potential, about memory and fondness. Something doesn't always have to be perfect to be appreciated.

Don used to tease Leo about not learning the lesson well enough. Leo had retorted, every time, that it said something that Splinter tried to teach _Donny _the lesson and not him.

A pang in his heart. It's a memory for another time. Right now, he rips his gaze away and settles on the slouch of Raph's shoulders at the table. His brother's eyes are very dark. "You wanna tell me what's goin' on?" Raph asks, but heavy, like the question is too much for him on top of everything else.

"I know what's wrong."

"And?" Short, to the point. So Raph. It's almost a relief.

"You've seen it before in _Psycho_."

"Come again?"

"Horror flick with Norman Bates and the hotel. He poisoned his mother and her lover with it, I think. I don't remember very well. I hated that movie."

Raph stares at him. "That crud's _real_?"

"We need to talk about our game plan, Raphie—"

"I knew we should've taken out Keslemen when we had the chance," Raph rumbles in fury, standing abruptly. "I'm gonna find a way to break that scrawny little bastard's—"

"Raph!" Don pleads. "It's not helping right now."

"What the hell _should_ we be doin' then?"

Don sits. Closes his eyes wearily. "We should be grateful," he says quietly. "Keslemen used the most theatrical, agonizing substance he could get his greedy hands on."

Raphael growls, his fist banging against the table. "Grateful my goddamn a_—_"

"Because it makes it easier to diagnose!" Don snaps. "It means I can help Leo quicker, Raph. Listen to me for once instead of employing your _damn_ selective hearing!"

The curse is a blow to the gut to his brother. Raphael drops in the chair, subdued, face hot. "Fine," he mumbles after a second of silence. Then, "Yeah. Sorry, Donny."

"No." Don shakes his head regretfully, the flash of anger vanishing as quickly as it had come. "_I'm _sorry, Raphie, I… didn't mean that. I'm just as frustrated as you right now. But if we waste time arguing over what's already happened, all we do is lose more time. We don't _have_ time. Right now, we need to concentrate on what's important."

Raph nods. "So what's wrong with Leo?" he asks, and it's the slow way he says it that makes Don wonder if he really wants to know or if he dreads the answer.

"Strychnine," Don says. Raph stares at him in incomprehension and Don sighs. "It's a poison, once used in rat poison and theoretically laced with LSD and other drugs on the market sometimes. Keslemen must have been experimenting with it. Overdosing causes muscle convulsions and hyperextension in interval attacks every ten to fifteen minutes. Because the muscles used in respiratory aid are unable to respond due to their spasms, Leo can't breath well. All of Leo's symptoms match it and according to the chemical analysis, there's a high likelihood that it's what's made its way into his body." There it is, Don thinks. All laid out like a textbook, neat and smart-sounding. The nastier details, he'll keep to himself. This framework should be enough for the rest of his family.

Listening to himself makes Don feel sick right now.

Raph sags into his chair. "So that's it? How do we get the antidote?"

Don smiles dully. "There isn't one."

"What?"

"We can treat him, Raph." He doesn't want to be the one to tell Raph this. To see the incomprehensible, stunned look on his brother's face. "But that's all. There's no magical cure."

"But you said—"

"He gets treatment now, we can still make it. If he makes it past the next three hours, he's got a fighting chance. Six hours and it's a real fight. Twenty-four hours and we won't have to worry anymore," Don says. "At least, not about the toxin killing him. It's getting through those twenty-four hours that's going to be the problem."

There is silence, brief but terrible.

"You keep talkin' 'bout treatment," Raph says roughly, scrambling against his disbelief. "What's this treatment, then, huh?"

"That's where we run into the real problem." Don leans forward against the kitchen table, wearily rubbing his temples just above his mask. "You have to understand, people who are poisoned don't die from the substance_—_they die from its effects. Leo's biggest danger is the seizure-like attacks he's having. Ultimately, unable to breath, his brain will shut down without oxygen during one of them. I'm already worried for his kidneys. Worse, even if he does manage to avoid that…"

"Spill it, Donny," Raph says quietly. Don shudders and steadies himself.

"Exhaustion. We could lose him from sheer, utter exhaustion, Raph." Like a bad dream he can't wake up from, that's what this is. Don feels his head pound, a rhythmic reminder that the minutes are passing too quickly. "To keep him alive long enough to have the toxin pass through his system, we need to stop the convulsions. The best we can do is heavily medicate him in hopes of slowing the shocks down. But that sort of stuff_—_we don't _have_ that kind of equipment or medicine, Raph. My strongest sedatives wouldn't even put a dent in his pain."

"So we gotta get somethin' better," Raph says.

"It's not that simple. We're talking highly selective barbiturates, Raph, only hospitals would have them on hand_—_"

"So we get 'em from a hospital," Raph snaps. His chair scrapes against the kitchen floor as he stands, pushing it back. Behind his head, Don can see their sunflower clock. There isn't _time_. "We ain't got a choice, right?"

"No," Don whispers. "We don't."

"Right." Raph inhales loudly. Lets it go. Squares his shoulders. "Right. So that's the plan, right? We gotta get this stuff for Leo."

Right. That's the plan, except for the fully operational and populated hospital full of its bright lights, cameras, and security guards. Don swallows bile. They don't even have the time to plan it properly; without Leo's strategy and good sense, without the time for Don to print up blueprints and schematics and hack his way in_—_

But he can do something, Don reminds himself. Something, at least, even if it's not much. He won't send half his family into this blind. "Right. I can guide you over headset, clear the way for you. The closest hospital is several blocks away, but if you take the Shell Cycle_—_"

"Whoa, whoa, just me?"

"Three hours, Raph," Don says desperately, "that's all we might have. If you don't make it back in time, someone's got to be here. April and Casey are coming with some things that might at least slow it down if we run out of time. And you need someone on the outside who can keep an eye on the overall picture, get you in and out safely. I can't come with you," and he hates saying it, the bitter draw in his throat, "but we won't let you go alone. It's too dangerous. If you take Mikey_—_"

"Mikey on a stealth mission is like sendin' an elephant through a mouse's den. It's faster with just one and you might need him here for somethin' else. I'll go alone," Raph says, like it's nothing. Maybe it is to him. To Don, it's like he's gambling with everything he owns. "Get me a list, Donny. Whatever he needs. Tell me where t'find it and I swear, it's his."

Don nods. "You have to hurry. We all do."

"That ain't gonna be a problem once you stop yammerin' and start movin' there, bro." Hard words, but Raph sounds almost gentle for his own way.

"Okay. Right." Hard not to linger, not to ask Raph to be careful one last time. But Don is practical and knows his priorities. He gets up and turns to leave. "Pack for stealth. Give me five minutes. No. Three. I'll have you a map, communication gear, a list, and everything you'll need."

"You got a plan, brainiac?"

"Not a plan," Don says, "but close enough that it might just work."

* * *

12:37 a.m., April and Casey come through the door toting a canvas bag and worried expressions. Raph isn't sure which he's glad to see more. 

"How's Leo?" is the first question April asks, but then she stops and Raph doesn't have to turn around to know she's looking, stricken, at the form of his older brother sprawled on the ground. Casey's eyes meet his own; their gazes lock, understanding passing within a second. He and Casey, they've always spoken the same language.

They both know it's bad and it's only going to get worse. Raph's strapping gear to him like he's going to war. Rope, smoke pellets, shurikan, grappling hook, miniature explosives Donny rigged up in his lab for diversionary tactics. He's got to be careful. This isn't just about being seen. This is about utter invisibility, quick and quiet, a true ninja mission.

And he's going at it alone. Raph has always wanted to go solo, but right now he'd give a left arm to have it any other way.

"What happened?" April asks, shaken. She leans against Casey, who wraps an arm around her and squeezes. "Is he alright?"

"No," Raph says simply. He puts the headset Don gave him over his head, adjusting it into its place. "But we're workin' on it. Go say hi, he's just restin' for now."

He's glad when she only hesitates a second before crossing to Splinter's side, their voices a low and comforting murmur. He doesn't have it in him to answer questions right now. Doesn't want to think about Leo struggling in his arms, bucking against him like _Raph_ is the enemy. Without air. Without control. Burning up and burning out. Not even blaming Raph in the slightest, he knows, his gut twisting, because Leo's that way as much as Raph hates it.

After tonight is over, Raph is going to have to think about some things long and hard. But right now, the only thing that matters is the mission.

"You goin' somewhere?" Casey jerks his chin towards Raph, arms crossing. "Looks real fancy. Cinderella goin' to a ball or what?"

"Hospital. Gotta get Leo some meds."

A flare of concern, then hidden behind irritation. "Risky. He know you're doin' this?"

"Not yet." Raph glances over at where his family is huddled, knowing from the lack of noise that one brother is still out of the loophole. It doesn't surprise him. Leo looks exhausted to the bones. Likely, all he can do is hold on and try to keep his energy up. "Guess he will later."

"That bad?"

"Real bad, Case," Raph mumbles. "Listen, if I don't get back in time_—_"

"I'm not the guy you should talk to," Casey interrupts. He sets his coat on the floor, eyes steeling. "'Cause I'm goin' with you."

No. "No way, knucklehead."

"You can't do it alone. I can help."

"Yeah, well I can help shove your head up_—_"

"Good," Don says from behind him. "I was going to ask you, anyway, now that you're here, Casey."

Raph whirls, fists clenching automatically. "Donny, there ain't no way_—_"

"I wouldn't normally ask you to get involved in our messes," Don is telling Casey, ignoring him, face pale, "but in this case, I don't really have an option. I'm sorry."

"You're family." Casey nods to Don and Raph, then over their shoulders to Leo. "And _he's_ family. Your mess, our mess. That's the way it goes."

Don smiles briefly. "Just be careful." At April's call, he turns and goes back. Begins to rummage around in the canvas bag, thanking April softly_—_Raph can tell what he's saying from the apologetic, warm tilt of his head. He's seen it too often.

"Not our strong suite, but we'll do our best," Raph mutters, resigned. He punches Casey in the arm first chance he gets. They'll be talking about this later, too. Bonehead. Every instinct in him wars against involving their friends, but this is Casey and if Don says so, it goes. There just isn't enough time to argue.

12:40 a.m. The watch strapped around Raph's wrist mocks him.

Mikey draws up to Raph quietly, a shadow of his normally boisterous self. He touches Raph's shoulder. "I can go, too," he begs, hushed. "Lemme go, too, Raph. You know I can help."

Raph softens. "I know, Mike," he says gruffly, cuffing his brother lightly. No matter what he'd said to Don before, he knows Mikey would be nothing but an aid on this mission. And his little brother is good. Real good. Though he'd never admit it to Mikey on pain of death. "But if somethin' happens here while I'm gone, I'm gonna need you to hold it together, got it? Donny… he's under a lotta pressure tonight. It ain't easy for 'im."

Mikey hesitates. "But if you get caught…"

"I ain't gettin' _caught_," Raph says, insulted. He cuffs Mikey for real this time. "You think a coupla fancy-smancy doctors are gonna catch _me_? Leo's the one with the big feet, remember? Jeez!"

"Ow! Sorry!" Mikey whines. "I just figured, it'd really suck if the hospital ended up blown up 'cause you did something stupid_—_"

"That's it, when I get back, I'm kickin' your butt_—_"

"Boys, boys," Casey says, slapping his fist into his palm. "Less talk, more action. Raph, you ready?"

"Yeah." Raph nods to Don, who gives him a thumb's up. The Shell Cycle keys are gripped so tightly in his hand that they're leaving imprints.

"Wait, Raph!" Mikey catches him by the shoulder. "What about Leo?"

"This is for him, Mikey. Leggo."

"No, I mean…" Mikey falters, shrinking. "Don't you wanna say…?"

"No." Because he isn't saying any goodbyes. He won't. "Just let 'im know I'll be back in a few. He's used to it, remember?"

"Raph," Casey says carefully, with unusual tact. "Maybe you oughta… y'know, just let 'im know you're going."

That's the last thing Raph wants to do. "Fine," he says abruptly, turning and marching to where the rest of his family is. He ignores April. Ignores Don and Master Splinter, who both glance at each other sadly. Ignores the swell of fury and alarm in his gut when Leo doesn't even open his eyes at the thud of his knees on the mat.

"Hey, bro. I'm outta here."

That gets him. "Where?" Leo rasps, eyes fluttering open. They're shadowed and sore-looking.

"Shopping." He isn't going to make a big deal out of this. Just letting Leo know. Just_—_

Three hours tops, Don had said. If they were lucky. Sometimes less. Sometimes, and it'd already been over an hour, which meant if Raph isn't fast enough this could be the last time he_—_

"Alone?" Leo sounds almost normal. That same outraged, flabbergasted tone he always uses when Raph does something stupid. "Where are you going? Raph, don't do anything rash, it's not_—_"

"Don't worry about it, Leo," Don says softly. "We're taking care of things."

"But what are you_—_"

"Shut yer yap," Raph tells him flatly. "I can take care of m'self without you around to babysit me, Fearless Leader."

"That's not_—_" But whatever Leo's about to say, it doesn't happen. Instead he coughs. Wheezes, more like. When the ugly noise is over, Leo lays still for a while before speaking again, and it's only because something has wrenched open in Raph's chest that he waits for it. "Don't do anything risky," his brother says, much weaker and wrought with strain. "Raph, don't…"

"Shut up." He should have never done this, Raph realizes. "Look, you can yell at me later." He'll even let Leo do it. "But I gotta do this."

'_This ain't goodbye. You believe that, I'll kick your ass.'_ He tries to commit these words with simple things, like the determined black of his eyes, the grit of his teeth. Leo squints up at him, a strange sight. He's had his fill of those today.

Finally, Leo nods, his features unreadable. "Be careful," is all he says, a shade imitation of Don but in the way only Leo could ever say it. With Don, it's a plea; with Leo, the phrase becomes law, an expectation, wrought with tension and worry but also his trust. In that moment, Raph wishes he were a better turtle. Someone who could say the stuff he wants to. Someone who isn't afraid to reach out when it matters.

But he isn't that turtle. He's just Raph, and Leo knows it and that's why it's okay. He understands. They both do. They always have.

"See ya later," is what he says.

He doesn't wait for an answer, but in a way he gets one. Leo's silences mean just as much as his speeches.

* * *

In the sewers, whipping by on the Shell Cycle with Casey's thighs a hot press against his shell, it's easier. The wind and the rot of the tunnels vanish the wetness under his mask, pull the moisture out of the cloth. Gone. Or at least, the evidence is. His chest still burns with it, but no one except Raph has to know that. 

"He'll be okay, Raph," Casey promises, but Raph barely hears him.

12:46 a.m. They don't have the time.

They'll just have to make it.

* * *

_End of Chapter Two_

* * *

Next time: Raph and Casey break into a hospital, Mikey takes matters into his own hands, Don has a talk with Leo he'd rather avoid, and the attacks continue. 


	3. A Race Against a Sunflower Clock

_Lockdown_

By Kay

Disclaimer: I don't own TMNT. Your mom does. I... love her for that.

Author's Notes: Oh man. I'm so sorry this took so long, but for those who don't know, this was a nightmare. I have to revise the stupid chapter two times completely and editing it was also a pain in the shell. But it's done! It's done and it even stops earlier than planned, just because it was getting longer than the average amount I was putting aside for chapters, and so I have a good eight page start on the next chapter, as well. The majority of this is in the bag. So hopefully updates won't be as painful anymore. Thank you so much for your patience and your support, I really couldn't have made myself work through the plot hazards without you. Thank you so much!

So this is a pretty boring chapter, despite all that work. I hope it doesn't disappoint too much. Freaking plot. I'm gonna be so glad when I toss it off a cliff after Chapter Four. Bwahahahaa.

* * *

Chapter Three: _A Race Against a Sunflower Clock_

* * *

Don can count on the three fingers of his hand how many times he's seen Leo badly ill. These do not include the endless parade of injuries, deathly wounds, or spiritual "funks" (as Mikey terms them and Don agrees, for lack of better options) that his elder brother usually attracts. For all that Leo acts as a magnet for battle scars, simple things like colds and viruses seem to bounce off of his shell. The benefits of an insanely healthy diet and rigorous practice to keep his body in an absolute, controlled condition, probably. He's always been the one to help take care of the rest of his brothers when they fall prey to weather and bacteria warfare, remaining upright and placid himself. It's something they've always teased him about, his relentless training "scaring the germs away."

The handful of exceptions are for the most part old and vaguely remembered, just ghosts, really, of a time Don has discarded. Only one of them is not.

Of the three, two of these memories are of peeking into Leo's room around the doorway, watching their father administer care to a lump in the blankets on the bed. They are bare traces of imagery, points of interest because back then, Leo had rarely been sick and so it seemed a frightening phenomenon to his young mind. Don can recall sneaking into Leo's bedroom the first time, creeping up to the mattress. Leo's eyes, studying him with fever intensity in the dark, his face sticky and sore from being swollen. The frailty of his breathing; tiny rasps that told him, _'S'okay, Donny… s'gonna be alright.'_

It had always been Raph and Mikey, their careless brothers, the ones that stomped through sewer water without consideration or ate food that might be spoiled, that got sick. Don had rough winters, too, but Splinter treated him with enough caution that eventually his thick skin grew in and the danger passed. It's that memory of Leo, sunken into the sheets and weakly grasping Donny's hand, that stays forefront in his mind. It's what he's thinking about now.

Only one of these memories is recent, the Battle Nexus tournament that almost ended in tragedy. The poison that crept through Leo's veins as he stumbled in the arena left him unconscious and on the edge of death, cured by Usagi's kind nature and habit of carrying around herbal remedies. Don had been the one to stay at Leo's side then. Dampening his cold cloth. Soothing his sedated, uneasy sleep. Worrying that his older brother would never wake up to see this strange world or any other again. Don had thought, at the time, that he'd never felt more helpless. Now he's been proven wrong and this time the poison is doing more than sapping away at his brother's life, it's yanking it out of Leo with talons, dragging him every inch of the way.

It's not fair. Even if Don knows the means to hold onto him, he doesn't have it yet. All he can do is watch. Again.

It's not fair.

Not even a minute after Raph is gone, Leo goes into his fourth attack. After it is done, Don will speculate as to whether or not it had been done on purpose. That somehow, delving into the wealth of will power Leo has always possessed, more than all three of his brothers combined on a good day, his older brother actually staved off the effects long enough for Raph to leave. Kept the violent shaking at bay until the lair door had shut with a clang of finality that made even Mikey flinch. It wouldn't surprise Don. Unlikely as it may be, and impossible as it may seem, he's seen too much to believe in coincidence.

As it is, he'll never ask. It's not something Leo would admit to, anyway, whether it had been a conscious effort or not.

Either way, Don sends a silent rush of gratitude off into space because he knows one thing for sure. If Raph had stayed any longer and seen Leo begin his fourth attack, there may have been no convincing him to leave. And right now, Leo needs those sedatives more than an extra set of hands to keep him down on the floor. Raph and Casey are their only hope. A slim, desperate hope at that, a gamble Don can't help but feel guilty for making in the first place.

If he loses Raph over this, too… if something happens…

Not that it will matter. He can't imagine life without Leo, anyway. What happens when four brothers become three? He's seen the answer. The twisted world of Shredder's hands, the broken band of brothers carrying their scars and empty-air appendages and hidden eyes. Take one engine away from the machine and the others falter in time, becoming prey to the absence of what makes them whole, until everything falls apart. He hates that place. The family he'd seen, struggling to survive, jagged at the edges, barely able to heal even with the return of Don's presence. The gaping yawn of that future is so barren that Don can see nothing from it. It's unfathomable. Insane. _'We can't let it happen. That's all there is to it.'_ He won't destroy his family again by not being good enough to save them.

He's here now. Leo's here. No one's going anywhere.

Leo quakes under their hands and sometimes Don isn't sure who's shaking more, his brother or himself. The way the muscles move is disturbing; as though an invading force has taken possession of his brother's body and is attempting to rip itself free. The skin burns. His temperature sky-rockets with every attack, Don notes, keeping the tidbit filed in the cabinet of information at the back of his head. It's a bad sign. A severe reaction. Of course, he can't imagine it becoming any worse.

But it's going to get worse, that's what's wrong. Don pushes his arms underneath Leo's, cradles his brother almost in his lap. Meets eyes with their father, whose lithe strength keeps Leo's shell connected to the earth, and Mikey, spread out across Leo's legs like a turtle paperweight. It would be funny if it were any other circumstance. Don wonders if he'll hear the strange choking sounds Leo's making in his nightmares for the rest of his life. Assuming they ever sleep again after this. How could things go wrong so fast?

April is making tea in the kitchen. Splinter's idea. Don wishes he'd thought of it, but the attack had come so quickly_—_too swift on the heels of Raph and Casey's departure, as though Leo waited, on edge_—_and he hadn't even thought of April. He should have warned her. He can remember the look on Leo's face. Her short scream of surprise may have hurt Don's brother more than the convulsions' angry beginnings, and Don is going to feel rotten for forgetting both of them like that for a long time. It's even worse because he knows how awful April will feel for not keeping her cool when her friends needed her the most. It's a silly thought, Don tells himself, because April's probably the only one in the entire lair keeping her head on straight. He feels like he's lost his to the current ages ago.

It's going to work, though. They take care of Leo better without worrying her this way, at least for a while. Splinter had sent her into the kitchen, using his teaching voice_—_almost strange to hear out of the dojo_—_that without fail resulted in obedience. Even April, years of hearing little of it, had automatically obeyed in her shaken state. Though not, Don had noticed, without first grabbing the bag of cheap muscle relaxants and chloroform and taking it with her. Good girl. She'll be making more than tea, then, which is precisely what they need right now. And with her help, Don will feel better about what he's doing, and knowing Casey is with Raph on their crazy mission_—_they've given his family so much in the past. He hates to beg more from them. But time and time again, they always prove to be up to the challenge, to come willingly into danger and all matter of foes.

It's frightening and humbling and amazing to Don, even now. Especially now.

_'We've got good friends,'_ whispers Don to Leo, knowing the mental admission won't reach him but trusting his brother would agree.

Leo moans from the back of his throat, guttural and strangled, and pushes his head back into Don's plastron. His arms and legs stretch wildly away, scratching against the blankets. He keeps trying to arch up_—_the hyperextension again, Don thinks grimly, trying to keep Leo from doing so too severely. Humanoid as they may be, Don knows for a confirmed fact that their spines are altogether too turtle in fashion. They fuse to the carapace, along with sections of their ribs, meaning that no matter how hard Leo tries to bend his backbone in the unnatural curve, the contortion of his shell won't allow for it.

Don isn't sure if the limitation is good or not yet. It could end up causing less strain on Leo. It could end up causing worse.

For Don, there is nothing worse than not knowing.

In this case, he has no choice, however. He closes his eyes, grits his teeth, and holds on. Leo's frantic struggles only last as long as the others have, barely even two minutes, far too long but gratefully short. His brother's abrupt limpness brings relief to them all.

Leo's breaths, drawn and shaky, are the best thing he's ever heard. _'At least,'_ his brain reminds him traitorously, _'for another ten minutes or so. Fifteen if you're lucky.'_ Maybe there's something to say for _knowing_ being the worst possible thing, after all. Don rubs his brother's arms in long, even strokes, attempting to impart at least a small bit of comfort. But Leo doesn't even look at him. His eyes have squeezed shut, strained at the edges already. Every ounce of him is in internal struggle for_—_

For what? Don clenches his brother's shoulders instinctively. _'What are you thinking about right now, Leo?'_

He's too afraid to ask.

"Raph'll be back soon," says Mikey, too loud in the silence. Don glances up and sees him pat Leo's legs awkwardly. "Don't worry, bro."

"No… I won't," Leo says slowly, voice scratchy with the effort of each word. "But you haven't said exactly where he's going, either."

Don exchanges a look with Mikey and Splinter. The decision is made swiftly, in unison, only a shadow of regret pressing down on their backs. "He's gone to get some supplies," Don says, trying to sound flippant and not entirely sure he's succeeding. "I don't have what I need here to treat you, and Raph volunteered for the job of fetching some things. Not too far from here."

"Where?"

"A drugstore. Casey went with him to_—_"

"Don," Leo says wearily, "I'm really tired. So why don't you stop lying to me?"

It's not the best lie he's even made, but it's not the worst either. He wonders what did it, but Leo's always been able to tell. From when they were kids, some innate mix of intense observation and natural instinct, he knew every time Raph sullenly lied about where he'd been. Every time Mikey lied about who made which mess. Every time Don promised he hadn't been working until two in the morning on inventions or stolen parts from the toaster again. Leo doesn't always tell on them; it's not his way. But he always knows and when he calls them on it, there's no use denying. Inherited from Splinter, not by genetics but an innate understanding, Leo has a gaze that can pierce as deeply as it can warm on the better days, splitting his brothers down the middle. A living sword. His big brother.

But this isn't ten years ago and Leo isn't staring him down_—_instead he's barely keeping his eyes open. This is a real problem. So Don swallows and says, "I'm not lying."

Leo doesn't seem hurt. Just impassive and a little more worn down. It's ten times worse, somehow.

"Just let us take care of it, bro," Mikey says hesitantly. "Y'know, like you always do for us_—_"

"Where. Did Raph. Go?" Leo grates out.

"Leonardo," says Splinter sharply. Leo flinches_—_and only Don sees the remorse flicker briefly over his father's weathered features. Splinter doesn't lay a hand on Leo, but instead hovers his fingers over his son's shoulder as if willing the connection to be established on another plane. Maybe it is. "Leonardo, my son," their father repeats, softer, "you must rest now. Trust your brothers, all they are doing is for your sake."

"I know, Master," says Leo, resigned. "But I'm not an invalid. If there's some way I can help…"

"For all intents and purposes, you _are_ an invalid right now," Don disagrees quietly. He hates to bring it up because he knows it's the last thing Leo wants to hear, but it's necessary. "You can't move without aid and the potential stress alone could set you off at this point. We can't take any chances. The last thing you should be focusing on is what Raph's doing. He's a big boy now, Leo. We're trusting him to return safely. Aren't you?" It isn't to say, Don adds silently, that _he's_ not insanely worried about his hotheaded brother right now, but what Leo doesn't know won't hurt him.

Leo frowns. "I do trust him," he agrees quietly. "But even if my body isn't seeing eye to eye with me, that doesn't mean I'm not in control of my brain, Don. You can't just keep me in the dark. I want to know… what's going on, what's _happening_ to me." He pauses, inhaling deeply. The words had taken their toll, the effort expounded in order to get them all out clearly taking its payment out of Leo's already strained health. "Even to Master Splinter, you haven't said…"

Don exchanges a glance with their father at that, inwardly sighing. That much is truth, at least. Though he'd pulled Splinter aside briefly, softly speaking so no one would hear them, to give an update of what Raph would be doing and why it's so vitally important, he hadn't told their father everything. The danger speaks for itself alone. All he'd been able to do was make reassurances that the plan wouldn't fail, that it is _necessary_, that without it, Leo might…

"He knows," Don tells him. At least it's not entirely a lie.

"And?"

Don fidgets. He really doesn't want to talk about this while it's still fresh and sickening in his mind. The last thing he desires to do is outline to another brother just how futile this entire mess is and upset his churning stomach further. 12:50 a.m. He can see it on the digital watch, matching sibling to Raph's that he'd dug out of the mess of a lab drawer, adorning his own wrist. Casey and Raph should be nearing the street where they'd come up to the hospital soon. He should be in his room with the headset, getting things ready, setting up blueprints and double-checking the facts he barely recalls. Making sure he won't get his family caught. There hadn't been much time when shoving things together with Raph, just a few sparse minutes to get the necessary files open on his computer, solve a few details in his overworking brain… no guarantee it will even work, really, just a base idea, such a stupid idea…

"Donatello," Splinter gently prods, voice bringing him out of the depths of his thoughts like a small fishing line attached to the weight of his worries. Dredging him up from the bottom. "There are questions that can surely be answered to give us all greater peace of mind. Just as you trust Raphael to return safely, we must also trust Leonardo's wishes. I, too, desire an understanding of many of tonight's events."

"I don't know where to start," Don admits helplessly.

"What's wrong with me?" asks Leo simply.

Like it's a question that can be answered with only a sentence. Don sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He can feel a migraine pulsing through his entire skull that he wishes he could smother under a blanket and a day's worth of sleep. He isn't going to be that lucky, though. As soon as the thought comes, guilt crunches it underfoot; he's not the one in real pain right now, after all. This can't mean anything compared to what Leo's going through. "It's hard to explain," he says, mostly because it's not and he wishes he didn't have to.

"Try," Leo tells him.

"Okay." Don takes a deep breath. This is going to be hard. He has to censor it like he did for the others_—_there has to be hope left over when he's finished. Hold back the unnecessary information if he can. But Leo isn't Mikey, either. His eldest brother is observant enough to recognize a charade when he sees one, being well acquainted with gambits and distraction as a means of victory. "You already know you've been poisoned by Keslemen's little funhouse mix," he begins, steadying himself.

"The powder," murmurs Leo.

"Yes. It's a toxic alkaloid called strychnine. It used to be an ingredient in pesticides, especially rat poisoning, that effects the central nervous system by exciting motor areas and causing reflex excitability in the spinal cord." At Leo's blank stare, Don waves dismissively. "Basically, all your muscles contract at the same time. Normally, small amounts would just pass through your system in a twenty-four hour period, but Keslemen knew what he was doing. You've overdosed."

"When you say it like that, I feel like a drug addict," Leo mumbles, sounding put out. Mikey laughs nervously. Don ignores them both.

"Increased amounts of the toxin absorbed into your blood cause the convulsions. Your muscles spasms are violent enough that you can't control your respiratory process, which means you can't breathe during the attacks. The reason you've been set off by small things, like Raph touching you or brushes of air or flashes of light, is because strychnine also creates hypersensitivity. Any stimuli could cause an unpredicted seizure within the time range normally stretching between each attack. Generally, it's ten to fifteen minutes, and the convulsions may last up until two minutes."

"So what?" Leo asks grimly. "I just keep having these until… until what? They stop?"

_'No,'_ Don thinks. _'Until _you_ do.'_

"Until Raph comes back with the medicine," he says.

"From the pharmacy."

"Yes."

Leo looks as if he wants to shift, but can't. "They have something… for this?"

"Something that might help with it, anyway," explains Don quietly. He can't help himself. He grasps Leo's shoulder and squeezes, very gently because he knows how sore the muscles must be. "Will you promise not to worry about it now? I've got everything under control. You just concentrate on conserving your energy. That means don't talk unless you absolutely must and don't ever, ever try to move. Understand?"

Leo's gaze slides away from Don's, staring off into the empty space a few feet from the floor. "Alright."

"Somehow I don't really believe you," Don says, dredging up a sliver of humor from somewhere. "Your idea of bedrest has never really been the same as mine, remember?"

"You'll have trouble with it later," agrees Leo, smiling faintly. "But trust me, Don… I'm not going _anywhere_ right now."

The amusement dies. Don knows. He knows Leo _can't_ move right now, as well as what that's probably doing to his brother. Don's like Leo in that arena. Loss of control only eats away at the mind. They live their lives counting on that control and even Don, who gets lost in his brain often, feels his skin crawl at the idea of being trapped there with no idea of what's happening.

He pats Leo's shoulder, judging the risk to be minimal this soon after an attack. "Don't worry," he repeats. "It's going to be alright."

If Raph and Casey can pull off a miracle, it might even be true.

April comes out of the kitchen then, carrying a tray of steaming cups for everyone. Her drawn face and concerned gaze immediately seek out Leo's form_—_Don can tell when she notices that he's breathing because April smiles, albeit tentatively. She seats herself and Leo opens his eyes.

"Hey, April," he says quietly. "Sorry to give you a scare." He says the last few words in one, tired exhale.

"Oh, it wasn't_—_I was surprised," April says, shaking her head. "That was all. How are you feeling now?"

"I'm fine."

"Don't talk, Leo," Don instructs automatically. He takes the tray from April and sets it on the floor. There's one cup further apart from the others. He glances at her_—_she nods. _'This one must be for Leo.'_ The muscle relaxants certainly can't hurt anything. He passes the others to Splinter, who cups it and gratefully murmurs to April, touching her arm with his free hand, and to Mikey, whose gaze flits down at the cup before he sets it to the side and focuses, as intently as if he would on a video game on boss level, on Leo again.

"I made some tea," says April softly. Her hair is auburn against the dim lights, ones which Don turned down to keep from possibly aggravating Leo's seizures. Tendrils fall against her shoulder and she puts a hand on Leo's wrist. "Your favorite. I hope you don't mind."

Leo flashes what could be his first real smile in hours at her. "It sounds perfect."

"Here, Leo, I'll help." Don picks up Leo's cup, already considering how to tip Leo's head up and forward without making a complete mess. And there's his brother's dignity to consider, that's the real problem. But maybe if_—_

"I'll do it," says Mikey, taking the cup from Don's fingers. The entire motion is executed in a brief second, leaving Don blinking at his empty hand. "Donny, you gotta go work on something, right?"

"I'm not… it's just_—_" Oh. Raph and Casey. Don swallows.

"We can take care of things here," April assures him, following Mikey's cue. "I'll keep a steady eye on him. We'll call you immediately if something happens."

"Go on, Don," Leo murmurs. He probably wants to ask questions, but he won't. Don bites his lip instinctively, torn between rationale and the prevailing fear that's gnawing at him. If he leaves now_—_if something happens while he's not here, if they don't know what to do_—_if only there were some way to monitor both of his brothers through their dangers at the same time, but_—_

"C'mon, Donny," urges Mikey. He gets to his feet and pulls Don up by the arm. Unwilling to struggle, Don follows. "Let's get you set up."

He feels the hesitant grasp on things slipping away. The idea of leaving Leo right now is… difficult. "Not now, Mikey, just as soon as_—_"

"I can do it," his brother insists, pushing Don in the direction of his lab until they're within feet of the door.

Don shakes his head. "I know, but…"

Mikey speaks low, beneath the hearing of April, Leo, and possibly even Master Splinter. "You just hang tight with Raphie and Casey, and make sure they don't get into trouble. I got things under control here."

"But_—_"

"They need you more, Don." Mikey's voice is as serious as Don has ever heard it and when he twists around, the face matches the tone. He's never seen Mikey's eyes so determined. They were anxious not a minute ago_—_the gaze of a little brother who doesn't want to lose his protection against a nightmare, one Don knows well from years of Mikey sneaking into his bed well after hours because he'd been unable to sleep. The creak of the ladder leading up to his bunk used to be as familiar as the sounds of the sewer pipes when it rained. But Mikey doesn't look like that right now. He meets Don's gaze evenly and squeezes his brother's shoulders. "I'll take care of Leo and Master Splinter. You take care of the rest of the family."

Don studies him like this, struck by how much older Mikey seems in this moment. Solemn, but not angry. Wary, but with hope. The balance Splinter had always hoped he would attain, the harmony of his joy and his abilities. _'When did our Mikey become a mountain?'_ Don wonders, and then he chuckles. When this is all over and done with, he'll be glad to have his little brother back to whining at the television and freaking out over spiders in the bathroom. When it's all over…

"Donny?"

"Nothing, Mikey. You're right." He pats Mikey's hands, smiling, and lifts them from his own shoulders. "The best thing I can do is be in this room, making sure Raph doesn't scare any nurses except the one I need him to. I know you'll take care of them. Thank you."

"Yeah, you better. Now get!"

"Getting, getting!" And he does.

When it's all over, Don thinks, maybe this really will be just another one of Mikey's nightmares_—_something to put away in the dark together. Because although he'd felt alone minutes beforehand, he's starting to remember that's not true at all. They've always survived leaning on each other. They can do it again.

He sits at the computer and adjusts the controls for his headset, bringing up the building blueprints and hospital files he's hacked into on the computer screen with his other hand. As soon as he switches the headset on, sound floods in.

"_—_onna answer me? Don!"

"Here!" And not going to waste anymore time, Don tells himself silently. "I'm here, Raph. Where are you?"

"We're under St. Joseph's. So you, uh, gotta plan or what?"

* * *

The nearest hospital is seven city blocks away. If they took the van to the streets, it would've taken several minutes to get there even with the lack of late night traffic. There are intersections to consider, other people. As it is, below the roads, streaking through the tunnels on the Shell Cycle at a reckless pace, it still takes six minutes. Debris is strewn everywhere from a flood earlier in the week. Pain in the shell, Raph thinks, gritting his teeth and plowing through whatever won't throw them off_—_the rest of the dents can be buffed away. (If they can't, he doesn't care.)

He slows when they reach the street that should be running parallel to the back entrance of St. Joseph's. Raph and his brothers know these sewers like their own weapons; years of playing, exploring, marking where every manhole is have imprinted into his memory. You never know when you'll need an exit, after all.

It's saved their lives more than once.

_'And it's gonna do it again,'_ Raph thinks, slowing the bike and bringing it to a nevertheless jarring halt. Casey yelps and his forehead crashes into Raph's helmet.

"Ouch! Warn a guy, you moron!"

Raph rolls his eyes. "We're stopping, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks. Thanks, that helps so much." Casey grunts and throws his leg back over the side, getting off the bike. "Dibs on driving the way back. My bruises got bruises from all the crap you kept runnin' into."

"It was in my way," Raph says indifferently. He swings his leg over the back of the motorcycle and rolls it to the wall, propping it up against the bricks. Then he leans down to rummage in the saddlebag. "Time to hook up with Donny. Try not to break 'em, genius." He tosses one of the headsets he'd pulled out to Casey. He puts his own over his temple, adjusting the band that fits, custom made, over his head so that the microphone curves in front of his jaw. The control box, a tiny protrusion against one side of his ear, is uncomfortable and familiar. But he's used this before. He switches the volume on and upward, listening past the static. "Donny? Don, you there?"

No answer. They might be running early, but that's no reason for his brother to not be already sitting at the computer, being antsy. Raph half expects a "Where have you been!?" But nothing comes.

Casey is cursing at his headset, trying to twist the mouthpiece so it doesn't stick out like an antenna out of his cheek. They're made for turtles, not humans. Raph turns away again and taps his own headphones. "Don? This is Raph, I'm in position. Donny? You gettin' this?"

No answer. Sudden fear traces its way through Raph's bloodstream, cold and hot at the same time. Crud. Faulty equipment? No, not Don. Not even in an emergency. But what if they were in some sort of Bermuda Triangle hole of communication under the hospital, maybe_—_

"I don't think mine's working," Casey complains. Raph ignores him.

"You gonna answer me? Don!"

"Here!" The voice that crackles through is faint but unmistakably his brother. "I'm here, Raph. Where are you?"

Relief churns in his gut. "We're under St. Joseph's. So you, uh, gotta plan or what?"

"Head on up. Keep a close eye out, though. It might be almost one in the morning, but this is New York we're talking about here."

"Yeah, an' now's about the time the hospital probably gets busy," Casey mutters, coming up behind Raph and elbowing him in the side. Raph turns, disgruntled, and Casey motions towards the manhole with a shit-eating grin. "Ladies first."

Raph hooks his foot around Casey's ankle and yanks him forward, sending him out on his ass in the sewer sludge. Then he gets up on the ladder. "Thanks, Case," he says, smirking. "You're a real gent."

"Damn it, you numbskull, this is_—_I don't even _know_ what this crud is! Gross!" Casey clambers to his feet, shaking off his hands. "That's it, I'm gonna_—_"

Don says, "I am already regretting this."

"Shut it, bro. You're the one who sent 'im."

"Hey, I _volunteered_! You ungrateful, short-ass piece of_—_"

"Guys! Guys, we do have a mission to think about? Leo? Name ring a bell?" Don demands impatiently. Raph feels whatever short flare of humor fade, smothered as though by a spiteful hand. He grunts and starts climbing up the ladder. "If you can be bothered for one second to_—_"

"We got it, Don," says Raph shortly. "On our way."

"Sorry," Casey whispers. "It was my bad."

There is silence and then Don sighs. It feels weird to hear it right up against his ear, Raph thinks, awkwardly rubbing his shoulder up by his jaw as if to banish it. "No, I'm the one that's sorry. Just… let me know when you're up on surface, okay?"

Raph picks up the manhole by about half an inch and peers out. Then he scrapes it across cement, off of the opening from where he clambers. Casey follows and shoves the manhole shut with his sneaker. The alley is dirty, cold, and from beyond he can see the glaring lights of the hospital and a murmur of constant noise. It pricks at the back of his neck; too close, too easy to be spotted. But this is where Donny told him to come and so Raph creeps forward cautiously to the corner.

"So what's the plan, Donny?" Raph adjusts his headset, feeling awkward with the constricting band and wires circling his head. This has never been his sort of gig. Electronics just get in the way during a serious fight. He's thrown away more than one pair on purpose before, only to get them out of the way and to stop irritating Raph when his concentration should be elsewhere, though he'd never tell Don that. "Please tell me you've gotta plan. Case and I aren't so big on those, y'know."

"I know, believe me," Don reassures him over the set. His voice crackles with static. "Where are you guys now?"

"Outside of the Emergency Room doors, in an alley across the way, just where you sent us," answers Raph. He peers around the brick corner at the entrance. There are a few men in dark blue uniform leaning against the wall, one checking his watch. One of them is finishing off a Danish. Through the opening, he can see the swarm of white-clad people scurrying back and forth under the flare of bright lights, like some foreign world. One Raph's definitely never been to, anyway. "What do you think? Steal a gurney, play dead, and walk straight through? It works in the movies, right?"

"Like they'd let you two feet in front of the door without rushing in to help," Don scoffs. "It's New York, but people are still civilized."

"Yeah, they eat with forks, I hear."

"Shut up, Casey," sighed Raph. "Don? It's late, but not late enough for the city. There are people milling in and outta here, constantly. An' the rooms will be full, the hospital's surrounded by tall buildings with equally full rooms… Hope you gotta really good plan, bro, 'cause it's not a pretty sight. And by not a pretty sight, I mean the giant turtle those people would see scaling walls and sneakin' into said full rooms."

"You're not going through the front door," Don says dryly. "Unless you really want to be on the eight o'clock news."

"I figured."

"Through the windows." Raph blinks and glances up at the building. It is several stories and even more windows; every single one of them with tiny streaks of yellow filtering through the blinds. The glass gleams against the smog and gray tones where darkness is chipped away by the multitude of city lights. "We take a cue from Leo. Attack from above, not below. Cover more ground. I can get you directly onto the floor I need you at this way and it's a safer exit afterwards."

"Yeah, okay." He can grant Don that much. "But how you gonna know if the room's empty? And most of 'em won't be, big place like this. They're crammed full all hours…"

"Getting you into a room with a person occupying it isn't the problem," Don corrected. "It's only a problem if the person _knows_ you're getting into it."

"Come again?"

"Use the parking garage on the west side for cover and work your way up. The parking garage goes up for three stories, at night it should cast enough shadow and be close enough that it will provide at least some degree of invisibility. We'll still have to risk being seen_—_" the words Raph had thought he'd never hear, "_—_because that's the only way I can guarantee you'll make it up to the floor I need you at without being caught, carted off elsewhere by someone with good intentions, or… who knows what. After that, there will be more, but we can get through it as long as I get you into the right room according to these records." Don exhales loudly. "I know it's a stupid plan, okay? But it's all we have."

"Not stupid," says Raph. He means it. It might not have all the delicacy and care Leo would give it, or even Don's normally meticulous and clever touches, but this is something Raph can do. No problem. "Case. Let's go."

"Waitin' for you, man."

"You'll need these." Raph digs into the pouch tucked at his belt and yanks out a pair of _shuko_. He tosses them to Casey. The other pair, he yanks over his own fingers, adjusting the band until the spikes run comfortably across his palm. "Tell me you've got 'nough muscle in them arms to pull your own deadweight up."

"To answer your question, yeah, I do. S'called chin-ups. And you suck. _These_ suck," Casey grumbles. "They're almost too wide to stay stretched over my hand. Hey, can't I jus' walk in and meet him up there, Donny? I lack the whole green an' ugly thing."

"You, Case, are a whole 'nuther breed of ugly."

"Trust me, Casey. You do not want to be on camera, involved in this incident," replies Don, his voice dry. "That is the _last_ thing you want. It has occurred to you that we're stealing expensive, highly secure equipment and drugs, right? From an institution that is designed to save lives of innocent New Yorkers every day, a fact which probably endears it greatly to the public? And further more, that this isn't going to happen without a little… creative, not entirely ethical maneuvering?"

"Heh. Was kinda hopin' for that, actually."

"Oh. Good."

Raph cracks his knuckles and then a grin that's all teeth. "What're we waitin' for, then? I wanna get to the part where I tell Leo we knocked off a hospital to save his life."

* * *

"Raph's not at the pharmacy, is he?" Leo asks, so quiet that Mikey almost doesn't hear him. It's the first thing he's said since refusing anymore tea, a move that Mikey's convinced had been based solely on the embarrassing process of sipping it with Mikey's hand supporting behind his head and the other holding the teacup. On one hand, it feels good to hear Leo's voice.

On the other, Raph really isn't at the pharmacy.

Aw, shell. He tries to fix a grin on his face, but it seems a little stupid_—_Leo will just see through it, anyway. "Eheh… nope. What gave it away?"

It makes the corners of Leo's mouth quirk up, a little. "Hmm. I wonder."

"Besides the fact I could have easily gone to a late night pharmacy myself," says April dryly, "I have no clue. Leo, are you sure you don't want more tea?"

"What's in it?"

Mikey hates it when Leo's perceptive. Which is, like, all the time. "Just some stuff to help you! I think." He's not actually sure what's in it, but since Donny gave it the eye of approval, he's probably not lying to Leo. "Don't be like Raph and complain about the taste. It's in tea. You can't possibly not love tea, no matter how bad it's made. You drink _my_ tea."

"Not bad… just different." Leo stirs slightly, glancing at April. "Muscle relaxant?"

She doesn't pretend, only smiles. "A strong one. Don hopes it'll stave off some of the worse effects. Can you tell if it's working?"

"Not really. But it sounded more plausible than anything else." Leo's voice is tired; it seems to fade in and out at odd words, like a radio only partly in tune. Mikey has to come up with trace syllables that fit into the sentence like a puzzle here and there. "Raph?"

Leo'll freak if he finds out they're stealing from a hospital. "Does it matter?" Mikey edges.

Leo closes his eyes and sighs. "… he and Casey are at St. Joseph's, aren't they."

_Way_ too perceptive. There has to be therapy for something like that. Of course Leo had figured it out. He knew about the time Mikey flooded the entire lair with soap suds because he'd been curious about what would happen if one poured an entire bottle of bubble bath down the sink drain_—_and they'd been kids, and Leo should've had no way of knowing, and it's that damn Big Brother Is Watching radar that Mikey always will be equally grateful and despairing of, really. Of course Leo knows Raph and Casey are at St. Joseph's, which is closest. It's like asking if the sky is blue or if he'd really like a good, old fashioned meditation session in the dark.

This is somehow all Don's fault. Mikey knows if he tries hard enough, he can blame Donny for this. Not for the whole_—_well, crazy drug dosing and consequent issues_—_but for forgetting that Leo is _great_ at the whole _reading your brain_ thing.

Master Splinter saves Mikey from having to answer, though. Mikey loves Master Splinter. "We have no other choice in this matter, my son."

"All those people…" whispers Leo.

April rests her hand on his shoulder. "Don't think about it, Leo."

"But… the cameras, the alarms… There's been no time to plan. If we had a day_—_" he stops to cough, hoarse. Mikey has to clench his fingers to resist grasping his brother's arm in concern. He recovers well enough, though, and continues. "It'd be a piece of cake. Especially if we were together. But this is…"

"I agree," Master Splinter concurs gently. "But as I said, we have no other choice. Your brother has assured me of this. The proper treatment is not something we can find elsewhere and we do not have the time to wait to procure it. Raphael is also the best choice for this. Here, he would have done nothing but driven himself into a rage with his emotions, finding no release within these walls. Outside, he gains clarity. He will stop at nothing to complete his mission."

"That's what I don't like." Leo's brow furrows, lines of stress that Mikey can remember seeing increasingly often since their childhood revealing themselves. "It's too dangerous. He'll be reckless because he thinks there's no other chance."

"Well, there kinda _isn't_," says Mikey, shrugging. "Besides, he told me he promised not to break the hospital." It's not precisely what Raph had said, but what Leo doesn't know won't hurt him.

"Believe it or not, but it's not the hospital I'm worried about."

"Enough." Master Splinter's tone is warm, albeit sharp. "Leonardo, you must save your strength. Donatello has told you not to speak unless it is important. Please, do not concern yourself with your brother so much that you make his danger pointless."

Chastised, Leo nods very slightly in agreement. His gaze goes inward. Mikey can tell when it happens because it's sort of like watching Leo meditate with his eyes open_—_his mouth relaxes into a default straight line, his eyelids hooded. It means he's thinking heavily, even if he's not saying anything. Mikey hopes they're not exhausting thoughts. Master Splinter's right when he says Leo needs all the energy he can get.

Mikey's read about what happens next, after all.

But for some incomprehensible reason, for the first time since this began, he's not afraid.

* * *

"I… _hate_… this." Casey sounds like he's dying or pissed off. Maybe both.

Raph grunts, digging the climbing claws into stone and lifting himself up another few inches. He'd agree if he wanted to waste the air. As it is, opening his mouth feels like a stupid idea. No doubt the amount of cursing would set off Don's lecture mode for the duration of the climb and it's already bad enough without that. This doesn't stop Casey, of course.

"D'you do this all the time? No wonder you're so… freakin' tough." His friend huffs loudly, dragging his body up the vertical wall. "April's always talkin' about wantin' to gain s'more muscle… which is stupid. Should tell her… just go climb some buildings. Some hospitals."

Raph's gonna push him off. And he'll like it.

"You're almost there," Don encourages them_—_or rather, mostly Casey. "Just a few more levels. Remember, you want the third window from the corner, seventh floor. Neuro-intensive care unit. It's our best bet."

Raph exhales loudly. "Peachy."

"Well, it's still a tough call if we'll find the medicine we need on this floor, but the treatment room in this ward's probably pretty well stocked. The main supply room would've been better, but we'll just have to hope we're lucky."

That's not something Raph wants to hear. "_Peachy_."

"I hate… these things."

The wind bites at Raph's exposed skin and beneath the curved edges of his shell. It's irritating. What's worse is how exposed he feels. The parking garage had been easy to sneak through_—_full of shadows, cement outcroppings, and cars_—_and it had been a simple swing from the roof to the hospital wall, thanks to the grappling hook. But that had been two floors ago. It may only be a climb of a few minutes, but these few minutes are in completely wide open air. Sitting duck is the phrase that comes to mind. Across the street, the business firm with its expansive glass windows is boring into Raph's shell, and he's trying not to imagine a hundred curious eyes catching the flash of green in the night. Ridiculous. He knows how humans are. They never look around and pay attention to things.

But the fear is there, crawling in his blood nevertheless. For all Raph's bravado about being seen, it's been buried into him through years of conditioning. And he doesn't like being out here. Not a bit.

_'Just imagine Leo's expression when you tell him,'_ he thinks quietly to himself. _'Don't think about lawyers callin' news stations or families pointin' up from the sidewalk. It's one in the morning, you idiot. No one's around. No one cares.'_

"Bein' ninja… sucks," says Casey.

"Funny, it ain't the ninja with the problem." Raph glances up and counts the windows. One more level. He grits his teeth and yanks the spikes out of the stone again and replaces them above his head, feeling the muscles burn with effort. The wind's too strong; he needs secure holds. That takes effort, and time. Neither of which he can spare as easily right now. "Don't make me ditch your ass next time."

"Next time?" Casey groans, but Raph can hear him pick up the pace and get a little closer.

"Where are you guys at?" asks Don. Raph sighs.

"We're about three feet from the window, so you wanna let us in on what we do next? I'm all for exciting the locals, bro, but somethin' tells me whoever's in that room won't be too happy with unexpected guests. Unless the room's empty?"

"No, there's nothing empty right now." Don sounds distant and Raph can hear quicksilver typing, jarring in its rhythm. "Every floor's overrun. That's why they say there can never be too many hospitals in New York_—_we're just lucky it doesn't matter. I've hacked into the records here. If I'm right, that room should contain Malcolm Briton, a forty-three year old who's been in a coma for the past few week. In time, they'll probably move him to a rehabilitation facility, but this window is ours for the taking. He won't have visitors this late and he's not married… there are _no_ contacts listed here, as a matter of fact."

Casey mutters, "Bummer."

"His loss, our victory." Raph hauls himself up against the sill of the window, noting the dark blinds with satisfaction. One of the few panes without light shining through_—_it bodes well for Don's prediction. "Here, numbskull, gimme your hand."

Raph reaches down and hauls Casey up the rest of the way, shoulder straining with the effort. He holds him steady until his friend has a grip on the frame, then turns back to the glass. "Here's to hoping no one's on the other side," he mutters, sliding his sai from his belt. He makes the jab quick. The window pane nearest to the lock cracks, one chunk falling way to the streets below, leaving a jagged frame behind. He uses the hilt to knock out the rest of the protruding glass and sticks his arm through, heart racing_—_not a sound yet, but who knows? He half-expects an alarm to blare, though it doesn't.

_'You'd think breakin' into places in the dead of night on a regular basis would make you less nervous about it,'_ Raph thinks wryly. Then he unlocks the window and withdraws his arm. "C'mere," he says to Casey, "and help me push this up from the other side."

"Whatever," Casey says nervously, getting into position.

"Once you're inside, we'll have to get you to the treatment room. It's located behind the nurse's station," Don instructs from the headset. Raph can hear him turning in his chair now, the wheels rolling against the cement of the lair. It strikes an unexpected pang in him. He could be there now, but he's not. It's better that he's not. "Now, it's going to be a little tricky to get you down the hallway, but I made sure it's only a few yards down the way_—_"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Casey interjects, grunting as he pushes up the window. It goes inch by inch like someone has coated its sides in sawdust. Raph immediately clambers through, one sai at ready, but it doesn't matter; the room is dark and quiet, save for the steady beep of a machine and a human's nearly inaudible breathing. Casey follows him. "Let's wait a second. Okay. Now I'm on flat ground again. Repeat that_—_we have to walk down the _hallway_ somehow? And into a room behind the nurse's station? Ain't that_—_"

"This is where it gets ethically unstable," mumbles Don.

"So this treatment room," Raph says, walking towards the bed. The male in it has one arm wrapped in bandages; he's losing hair, and weight, fast. But he's as asleep as a soul can get and even Raph, who doesn't have the discipline of mind to focus on the presence of a being, can sense nothing. It's a shell that reminds him disturbingly of another form sprawled somewhere else, breathing quietly. He moves away, eyes sliding towards the door and its single square window where a white light gleams. "It's, what? Locked? That's nothin' new."

"Locked. Um. We'll need a keycard to get into it. If I was there, I'd have it open in half a second," Don continues, guilt lining his words, "but you'll have to actually get a badge from a nurse there. And the keys. To, uh, the drug cabinet there."

Silence. Raph considers this very carefully. "So you're sayin' that…"

"There's only one set. I don't know for sure_—_my research isn't exactly detailed, you realize_—_but it's going to probably be with the head nurse for this shift. If you can just send Casey out to ask who it is and somehow lure them back_—_"

"That's the plan? _That's_ the plan?"

"Whoa, they aren't just gonna let me run around here," Casey protests.

"I know, but we don't exactly have much of a choice! I can't shut off power and give you guys enough time to break in, it'd be too long and you'd get caught. And those are people on that floor. What did you _think_ was going to happen, it's a _hospital_, Raph!"

"That's the _plan_?"

"Can we just think this through a little more?" whines Casey. "Please? I thought I didn't want my face on camera?"

"No, because it's already_—_" Don stops. Raph can hear Mikey in the background shouting something, faint but urgent. "Damn it! Wait a second, Raph!" Don curses uncharacteristically and then there's a swish of air and static against Raph's ear drums, and then, crackling, absolutely nothing but silence.

"Don? Donny? You there?"

Mikey had sounded upset. There's a thin current of air trickling down through Raph's throat, barely touching his lungs. He feels like he's sucking it through a straw. He listens. No answer.

_'Stupid. Just a hitch. Don't even think about it. Leo's a pain in the shell, but he's not—a coward, he's at least better than that. Don't think about it.'_ The coma patient's heart monitor is irritating. Raph wishes he were bastard enough to sweep it down with an arm, just one clean swipe, done in rage. Instead he inhales deeply and lets it out again until he feels like he's actually taking in oxygen again. _'He's fine. It's all fine. Just do the damn job you came here for. It's already…'_

He checks the watch strapped, by necessity, to his wrist. 1:07 a.m.

Hell.

"Raph," says Casey, quiet-like.

"I know." He glances towards the window set in the door. Maybe eight by eight inches. "We gotta go. We can't wait for Don."

"But we don't know what_—_"

"He said we needed a card an' the keys from the head nurse." Raph glances around the room, but there's nothing to make Casey look anything less like some punk that just climbed through a window. Which he is. They'll just have to hope no one gives him a second stare. "Which means we have to put her out of commission."

"What? Like… knock her out?"

"Yeah." Maybe it's not what Don had planned, but Raph can't see any other way out of it. Maybe that's what "ethically unstable" means. He doesn't care. "Go outside. Ask the desk to figure out who she is. Jus' get her _here_."

"Aw, man. I hope she's not pretty," Casey mumbles, sweeping back his hair with his fingers. "Fine, fine. If I get kicked out, I'll… uh, try to come back."

There wouldn't be time. Raph grins, anyway. "Heh. Just get going."

"Yeah, yeah." Casey peers out the window and then cracks open the door enough to let in a sliver of light. "Be ready."

"Right."

Then he's gone and Raph's alone. Well, almost. He turns back to the man in the bed, scowling, but finds he can't keep it up when there's no response. The room is really white; barren and untouched. He leans against the wall and listens for Casey's footsteps as they squeak on the tiles down the hallway.

"I can't wait to tell Leo we knocked out a _nurse_ to save his life," Raph tells the guy. A few moments later, his sharp grin falters and falls away. The empty vase by the side table had to have had flowers at some point or it wouldn't be there, but now it just stands like a relief in the shadows. He fingers the headset and waits, but there's nothing to hear.

His brother might be in trouble and all they have is a half-assed plan where anything could go wrong at any given time. Perfect.

1:08 a.m.

Raph thinks about the first time he learned to hit a skull without leaving any lasting damage beyond a small headache. His practice dummy had been Leo. Back then, when they were younger, it still felt normal to reach out a hand to help his brother up, even as Leo clutched his temple, one eye shut, and laughed. That had been normal, too.

He tips his head up against the wall and closes his eyes, listening.

* * *

"Donny!" Mikey all but shrieked. "Donny, he's not breathing! _He's not breathing!_"

It had been too much to hope for, after all. That's all Don could think when he felt his heart stop. It had been over fifteen minutes, too long for another attack, and even though he knew not to_—_he'd hoped. That maybe he could call Raph any second. Stupid. He's too intelligent to believe that. "Damn it!" CPR. Mikey knows it, but none of them are as good as Leo and Don when it comes to resuscitating. Leo has the patience, Don has the technique. Technique will have to do. "Wait a second, Raph!"

He hates to leave them there, but no choice. He rips off the headset. It rebounds off of the computer chair, but he's already out the doorway.

April's grim face is the first to glance up at him from where she crouches over Leo's legs, trying to keep them pinned to the floor. Master Splinter is clutching Leo's arm, an intent expression that seems unmovable against the force of his son's violent shaking. It hasn't gotten any less surreal since the last time Don had seen it.

"It's an attack," Mikey says tersely when Don falls to his knees, fingers prying at the rigid set of Leo's teeth as they bare at him in a parody of a grin. Don doesn't have time to think of Leo's comfort zone; he wedges his thumb in between the molars and leans down to listen for the flow of air. It isn't coming. "It's only been 'bout a minute, but now he can't_—_he just _stopped—_"

"Mikey, you do the compressions!"

"Compressions," his little brother repeats, pale. But he puts his hands on Leo's chest, folding them carefully and waiting just above the plastron in the upper center.

Don leans down and covers Leo's beak. "Breathe for me," he whispers, pushing up on the chin so his brother's head falls back. He has to press hard to make it stay in place. Holding the jaw with an iron grip, he bends and blows into Leo's mouth. And again. Turn, inhale. "Mikey_—_"

"One, two, three, four…!" At twenty-one, Mikey's numbers turn into grunts. But Don's still keeping track. When it hits thirty, he listens, finds nothing, and then bends again. One. Two. Turn, inhale.

It's a nightmare. Performing CPR is hard enough, but every desperate twitch shifts Mikey's positioning and it's getting increasingly difficult for Don to keep Leo's hardwired-shut mouth capable of receiving breaths. His brother's going to have bruises all over his face. Fingerprints dotting his cheek and neck, he can already see the pale imprints. It won't matter. Just so long as_—_

In mid-process of pushing another puff of air into Leo's lungs, Don can feel the exact second when Leo goes limp. For that exact second, he assumes the worst.

A second breath. Turn, inhale. Don fumbles for a pulse but can't make himself look at Leo. Mikey's not counting or even making any sounds, just punching down with a high quivery noise, but_—_

Leo gasps.

Shuddering, tight, a painful sound. It's fantastic. Don turns and puts his hands against Leo's cheeks, gentle this time, as his brother weakly coughs. "That's it," he whispers. "You got it. Calm down, just concentrate on taking in air."

"You did it," Mikey's repeating, low, reverent, and Don's not sure if he's talking to him or Leo or himself or what_—_it doesn't matter. "You did it, it's gonna be okay. Oh man. Oh _man_."

"Don," Leo croaks.

"Water," says Don. April gets to her feet in an awkward motion where her left sneaker skids on the mats. She heads for the kitchen. "Don't talk too much, Leo, you've got to save your strength. That was way too close."

Leo blinks wetly at him, his dark eyes slightly glazed. Then he nods, brow furrowing in concern. Don strokes his face, unable to help himself, and thinks that he must be grinning something frightful if Leo's worried about _him_. So he pulls back and begins to do a quick check of Leo's body, making sure everything's in order, eyes running over the muscles and slick sheen of sweat. It'd been a hard, long attack. Not the good news he'd been hoping for, although the stretch of time in between the last attack and this one did seem to bode well_—_

"Leo, when we gave you tea before, I asked April to include a simple over the counter muscle relaxant of some strength. Did the muscle relaxant help at all? Just nod yes or no. Did you notice a difference?"

Leo shakes his head slightly. Don feels his shoulders almost sag in disappointment and stops them. "Well, maybe some more tea wouldn't hurt," he suggests. April comes in with the glass of water right on time and catches his eye. She nods and then hands him the glass. There's a light dust of white coating the bottom of it; they won't need anymore tea. Sometimes Don thinks if there were ever a girl, if it were even remotely feasible, it would have to be April. As it is, he'll never be able to thank her for this.

"Here, drink this." He tucks his hand under Leo's head and pushes it up slightly, ignoring the slight tension as Leo pulls away instinctively. "Don't gulp. Sip."

It takes a moment, but Leo relaxes and slowly sips from the glass. A small rivulet of liquid trails down his beak, but Don catches it with his wristband. After about half the glass is gone, Leo closes his eyes and rests his head heavily against Don's hold. Don puts the glass down. That's enough for now. Enough medicine and enough of a blow to Leo's pride, as stupid as it is. He wants to shake some sense into his brother right here and now, but it's not the time, the place, the situation_—_and it's weird, but he can't because it feels almost good to see the miniature acts of defiance. He's seen Leo as bad as it can get at this point, even worse than the night Leo came crashing through April's apartment window, and any piece of his brother still showing past it is comforting. Don's almost tempted to give him the lecture he would've if Leo had been caught practicing with a sprained wrist.

Leo inhales raggedly, like his esophagus is in pieces. It's not like a sprained wrist. Don's vague smile fades, and he leans in close. "Leo, are you sure the muscle relaxant had _no_ effect?"

"Yeah…" Leo turns his head towards Don nearly imperceptibly. "Pretty sure."

That idea can go out the window, then. And he doesn't dare try chloroform. Who knows what would happen if it was still in his system when Raph returned with the medical supplies_—_or if it would slow the seizures at all.

It's not the first time Don has wished their medicine cabinet supplies could expand in variety and usefulness. It's not the first time he's stood staring at the shelves with a sinking feeling, that helplessness that burns too fiercely to ignore, and not the first time he's had the fleeting thought that, _'If we were normal… this would be so much simpler.' _In that world, Don can just take his brother to a hospital that's more than prepared to deal with the situation at hand. Leo would already be getting better. Raph wouldn't be risking his life and their detection by breaking into a hospital_—_and there is a wealth of trouble there, too many ways this could go horribly wrong and too much to lose if it does. Mikey wouldn't be shaken but hard, his smile becoming a mask as he pats April's shoulder.

It's just… this is the first time Don has come this close to hating his home.

A sharp pain stabs through his temple. Don rubs his forehead, grimacing. He wishes he could crush the ache in his head with his hands, too. It's not making this any easier. It's part stress and part the gears working overtime, maybe, and he's had headaches before but never have they been so inconvenient.

"You should take… something for that," Leo says quietly. "If you're not feeling well. Relax, Don. I know you're doing your best."

"I thought I told you not to talk," replies Don softly, but he smiles again. "I did take something. I'm fine. Leo, was this seizure more severe than the others? Just nod."

Leo hesitates and makes the smallest of shrugs.

"Right." It's no help, of course. "Well, there's some good news, at least."

"I like good news," mumbles Mikey. His hands are moving every so often, drifting from Leo's plastron to clutching Leo's arm, as if they can't decide where they need to be. "I also like the absence of the bad news part."

"The whole thing is bad news, Mikey." Don makes as if to get up, but a noise from Leo stops him. "What is it?" He bends in concern.

Leo shakes his head minutely. "The good news?" he asks, pointedly.

Oh. It's not good news he particularly wants to share. But now Mikey's beaming at him like maybe it's the lottery or something and Don is cursing his big mouth. Even Master Splinter's ears have pricked forward. It's Leo who cinches it, though; solemn and weary, studying Don like he's expecting him to suddenly throw up his arms and cry out that it was a joke.

Don sits again. "Um… well, it's just a theory I've been considering. I don't know if you'll like it very much, but it really _is_ good news if it turns out to be true. See, the seizures are supposed to come in regular intervals. Ten to fifteen minutes each."

"Oh," says April. "But this was…"

"Right, it was longer than that. A hefty eighteen minutes or so, almost twenty. If there's more time in between, it's hopeful that the drug wasn't as potent as we originally thought it might be. Keslemen… he might've made a mistake."

"How do you make a mistake?" Mikey asks, confused. It's naturally the question Don had been hoping to avoid answering.

He sighs. "Well, it's… the drug, it probably wasn't _pure_, Mikey. Understand?"

"Uh."

"Okay, if that had been a dose of pure strychnine? We might not even be having this conversation." He tries not to think about that idea; just breezes on past it. "There were numerous other elements in the sample that I discovered when I was trying to isolate the strychnine's molecular compound. So that means the strychnine was mixed with other stuff, not so dangerous."

"How does that help?" Leo murmurs inquiringly. He's still watching Don with those damp, tired eyes. "And what if the other stuff… if it was bad, it could…" He can't seem to get the last words to work, so he just stops.

"He must've been mixing it with LSD and other drugs. It's been done before, without any conclusive results." Don hesitates. "In fact… the small percentage of other chemicals in the sample I tested suggests it was an attempt, as well. By blending it with the drug, though, it might have negated_—_"

"Okay, that was not the good news I was hoping for," mumbles Leo. He looks like he wants to cover his eyes with his hands, but has to settle for simply closing them. Don fidgets and looks away. He'd wanted to spare Leo this, too, but nothing's going the way he'd planned. He should've known. Leo never rests easy until he has every fact, some innate compulsion to keep control of every aspect of his life and those around him creating a single-minded pursuit of truth. There are plenty of things Don could say to make this sound better, but it would almost be an insult to Leo to do so. Instead, he is respectfully silent.

After a long moment, Leo exhales loudly. "Okay. So why is this good?"

"It might not be." Don glances at Leo's fingers, which are twitching slightly as if he's trying to move them. "But if the dose had been tampered with_—_any sort of chemical drug mixed in with it, any attempt to distill the product_—_there's a chance it wasn't as strong as a pure shot of strychnine. I'm not… an expert, Leo. I can't tell you that. But there's a possibility. It makes logical sense. It would give you better odds_—_it would be a _good_ thing if it were laced with that many drugs."

Leo still hasn't opened his eyes, but at least the hard line of his jaw has eased. He seems to be thinking it over carefully. "I feel fine," he says, neutral.

It's good in one way and bad in another. If the drug cocktail simply hasn't worked its purpose but still is canceling out some of the immediate severity of the poison, Don figures it's the best of both worlds. If it just hasn't had enough LSD to create an effect… they're right at where they've started. Just a little hope. "Okay," replies Don quietly, making as if to stand. "It doesn't matter, really; what's done is done. But I had to tell you."

"Thanks, Donny." The gratitude is honest. Don feels a bit of himself relax, deep inside of the knot of worry in his belly. But then, "Wait. Um_—_"

"What is it?" He stays in the half-crouch, fingers to the floor, and studies his brother's troubled expression. Leo appears to wrestle with something; when his eyes open, they're guarded. It's the countenance Don has only seen the few times his brother's been openly embarrassed or frustrated. He can recall_—_like so many of the memories that have been warring for attention in his mind all night, as if forewarnings_—_the first time Leo had a nightmare as a child and sought out comfort, when he'd realized Don could read the volumes that Leo still hadn't mastered at a young age, a mistake in training or on a mission that cost him nothing but dignity. He's never seen that face look up at him before; it's disconcerting.

Don waits.

"Don't tell Raph," Leo finally says, his voice small.

And somehow, yes, Don had expected that. But the request hits him in a place he hadn't been prepared for_—_he fumbles out an agreement, walks away on numb legs, and feels the tears brim over as soon as the door to his lab closes.

He leans against the wall and presses his palms to his eyes. Shudders deeply. Takes a deep breath. Then he goes to pick up the headset left abandoned by the computer, slides into the chair, and says, "Raphael, I'm here. Where are you?"

* * *

_The End of Chapter Three_

* * *

Next time: Raph and Casey scare two nurses. Damn those drug trolleys! Mikey steps up to bat. Leo is freaking tired and Master Splinter will not shut up. Don loses a bet. Time runs out. Raph figures out how to say what he needs to say.

* * *


End file.
